University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
Mrs.    T.    K.   Whipple 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 


BOOKS  BY 
THEODORE    DREISER 


SISTER   CARRIE 

JENNIE    GERHARDT 

THE   FINANCIER 

THE   TITAN 

THE  GENIUS 

A   TRAVELER    AT   FORTY 

A    HOOSIER   HOLIDAY 

PLAYS  OF  THE  NATURAL  AND  SUPERNATURAL 

THE   HAND   OF  THE    POTTER 

FREE    AND   OTHER   STORIES 

TWELVE    MEN 

HEY   RUB-A-DUB-DUB 

A    BOOK    ABOUT   MYSELF 

THE   COLOR   OF   A   GREAT  CITY 


JENNIE 
GERHARDT 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


THEODORE    DREISER 


AUTHOR  OF 

"SISTER  CARRIE' 


BONI    AND    LIVERIGHT 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

Copyright,  IQII,  by 

BONI   &  LlVERIGHT,   INC. 


PBINTBD   IN   THE    UNITED    STATES    OT   AMERICA 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 


CHAPTER  I 

ONE  morning,  in  the  fall  of  1880,  a  middle-aged 
woman,  accompanied  by  a  young  girl  of  eighteen, 
presented  herself  at  the  clerk's  desk  of  the  principal  hotel 
in  Columbus,  Ohio,  and  made  inquiry  as  to  whether  there 
was  anything  about  the  place  that  she  could  do.  She 
was  of  a  helpless,  fleshy  build,  with  a  frank,  open  coun- 
tenance and  an  innocent,  diffident  manner.  Her  eyes 
were  large  and  patient,  and  in  them  dwelt  such  a  shadow 
of  distress  as  only  those  who  have  looked  sympatheti- 
cally into  the  countenances  of  the  distraught  and  helpless 
poor  know  anything  about.  Any  one  could  see  where 
the  daughter  behind  her  got  the  timidity  and  shame- 
facedness  which  now  caused  her  to  stand  back  and  look 
indifferently  away.  She  was  a  product  of  the  fancy, 
the  feeling,  the  innate  affection  of  the  untutored  but 
poetic  mind  of  her  mother  combined  with  the  gravity 
and  poise  which  were  characteristic  of  her  father. 
Poverty  was  driving  them.  Together  they  presented  so 
appealing  a  picture  of  honest  necessity  that  even  the 
clerk  was  affected. 

"What  is  it  you  would  like  to  do?"  he  said. 

"Maybe  you  have  some  cleaning  or  scrubbing,"  she 
replied,  timidly.  "I  could  wash  the  floors." 

The  daughter,  hearing  the  statement,  turned  uneasily, 
not  because  it  irritated  her  to  work,  but  because  she 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

hated  people  to  guess  at  the  poverty  that  made  it  neces- 
sary. The  clerk,  manlike,  was  affected  by  the  evidence 
of  beauty  in  distress.  The  innocent  helplessness  of  the 
daughter  made  their  lot  seem  hard  indeed. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said;  and,  stepping  into  a  back 
office,  he  called  the  head  housekeeper. 

There  was  work  to  be  done.  The  main  staircase  and 
parlor  hall  were  unswept  because  of  the  absence  of  the 
regular  scrub -woman. 

"Is  that  her  daughter  with  her?"  asked  the  house* 
keeper,  who  could  see  them  from  where  she  was  standing. 

"Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"  She  might  come  this  afternoon  if  she  wants  to.  The 
girl  helps  her,  I  suppose?" 

"You  go  see  the  housekeeper,"  said  the  clerk,  pleas- 
antly, as  he  came  back  to  the  desk.  "Right  through 
there" — pointing  to  a  near-by  door.  "She'll  arrange 
with  you  about  it." 

A  succession  of  misfortunes,  of  which  this  little  scene 
might  have  been  called  the  tragic  culmination,  had 
taken  place  in  the  life  and  family  of  William  Gerhardt, 
a  glass-blower  by  trade.  Having  suffered  the  reverses 
so  common  in  the  lower  walks  of  life,  this  man  was  forced 
to  see  his  wife,  his  six  children,  and  himself  dependent 
for  the  necessaries  of  life  upon  whatever  windfall  of 
fortune  the  morning  of  each  recurring  day  might  bring. 
He  himself  was  sick  in  bed.  His  oldest  boy,  Sebastian, 
or  "Bass,"  as  his  associates  transformed  it,  worked  as 
an  apprentice  to  a  local  freight-car  builder,  but  received 
only  four  dollars  a  week.  Genevieve,  the  oldest  of  the 
girls,  was  past  eighteen,  but  had  not  as  yet  been  trained 
to  any  special  work.  The  other  children,  George,  aged 
fourteen;  Martha,  twelve;  William  ten,  and  Veronica, 
eight,  were  too  young  to  do  anything,  and  only  made 
the  problem  of  existence  the  more  complicated.  Their 
one  mainstay  was  the  home,  which,  barring  a  six- 
liundred-dollar  mortgage,  the  father  owned.  He  had 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

borrowed  this  money  at  a  time  when,  having  saved 
enough  to  buy  the  house,  he  desired  to  add  three  rooms 
and  a  porch,  and  so  make  it  large  enough  for  them  to  live 
in.  A  few  years  were  still  to  run  on  the  mortgage,  but 
times  had  been  so  bad  that  he  had  been  forced  to  use  up 
not  only  the  little  he  had  saved  to  pay  off  the  principal, 
but  the  annual  interest  also.  Gerhardt  was  helpless,  and 
the  consciousness  of  his  precarious  situation — the  doctor's 
bill,  the  interest  due  upon  the  mortgage,  together  with 
the  sums  owed  butcher  and  baker,  who,  through  knowing 
him  to  be  absolutely  honest,  had  trusted  him  until  they 
could  trust  no  longer  —  all  these  perplexities  weighed 
upon  his  mind  and  racked  him  so  nervously  as  to  delay 
his  recovery. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  no  weakling.  For  a  time  she  took 
in  washing,  what  little  she  could  get,  devoting  the  inter- 
mediate hours  to  dressing  the  children,  cooking,  seeing 
that  they  got  off  to  school,  mending  their  clothes,  waiting 
on  her  husband,  and  occasionally  weeping.  Not  in- 
frequently she  went  personally  to  some  new  grocer,  each 
time  farther  and  farther  away,  and,  starting  an  account 
with  a  little  cash,  would  receive  credit  until  other 
grocers  warned  the  philanthropist  of  his  folly.  Corn 
was  cheap.  Sometimes  she  would  make  a  kettle  of  lye 
hominy,  and  this  would  last,  with  scarcely  anything  else, 
for  an  entire  week.  Corn-meal  also,  when  made  into 
mush,  was  better  than  nothing,  and  this,  with  a  little 
milk,  made  almost  a  feast.  Potatoes  fried  was  the 
nearest  they  ever  came  to  luxurious  food,  and  coffee  was 
an  infrequent  treat.  Coal  was  got  by  picking  it  up  in 
buckets  and  baskets  along  the  maze  of  tracks  in  the 
nearby  railroad  yard.  Wood,  by  similar  journeys  to 
surrounding  lumber-yards.  Thus  they  lived  from  day 
to  day,  each  hour  hoping  that  the  father  would  get  well 
and  that  the  glass-works  would  soon  start  up.  But  as 
the  winter  approached  Gerhardt  began  to  feel  desperate. 

"I  must  get  out  of  this  now  pretty  soon,"  was  the 
2  3 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

sturdy  German's  regular  comment,  and  his  anxiety  f 
but  weak  expression  in  the  modest  quality  of  his  voice. 

To  add  to  all  this  trouble  little  Veronica  to<,kthe 
measles,  and,  for  a  few  days,  it  was  thought  tr-  t  she 
would  die.  The  mother  neglected  everything  Ut>e  to 
hover  over  her  and  pray  for  the  best.  Doctor  Ellwan.ger 
came  every  day,  out  of  purely  human  sympathy,  nnd 
gravely  examined  the  child.  The  Lutheran  minister, 
Pastor  Wundt,  called  to  offer  the  consolation  of  the 
Church.  Both  of  these  men  brought  an  atmosphere 
of  grim  ecclesiasticism  into  the  house.  They  were 
the  black-garbed,  sanctimonious  emissaries  of  superior 
forces.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  felt  as  if  she  were  going  to  lose 
her  child,  and  watched  sorrowfully  by  the  cot-side. 
After  three  days  the  worst  was  over,  but  there  was  no 
bread  in  the  house.  Sebastian's  wages  had  been  spent 
for  medicine.  Only  coal  was  free  for  the  picking,  and 
several  times  the  children  had  been  scared  from  the 
railroad  yards.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  thought  of  all  the  places 
to  which  she  might  apply,  and  despairingly  hit  upon  the 
hotel.  Now,  by  a  miracle,  she  had  her  chance. 

"How  much  do  you  charge?"  the  housekeeper  asked 
her. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  had  not  thought  this  would  be  left  to 
her,  but  need  emboldened  her. 

"Would  a  dollar  a  day  be  too  much?" 

"No,"  said  the  housekeeper;  "there  is  only  about 
three  days'  work  to  do  every  week.  If  you  would  come 
every  afternoon  you  could  do  it." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  applicant.  "Shall  we  start 
to-day?" 

"  Yes ;  if  you'll  come  with  me  now  I'll  show  you  where 
the  cleaning  things  are." 

The  hotel,  into  which  they  were  thus  summarily  intro- 
duced, was  a  rather  remarkable  specimen  for  the  time 
and  place.  Columbus,  being  the  State  capital,  and 
having  a  population  of  fifty  thousand  and  a  fair  pas- 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

senger  traffic,  was  a  good  field  for  the  hotel  business,  and 
the  opportunity  had  been  improved;  so  at  least  the 
Columbus  people  proudly  thought.  The  structure,  five 
stories  in  height,  and  of  imposing  proportions,  stood  at 
one  corner  of  the  central  public  square,  where  were  the 
Capitol  building  and  principal  stores.  The  lobby  was 
large  and  had  been  recently  redecorated.  Both  floor 
and  wainscot  were  of  white  marble,  kept  shiny  by  fre- 
quent polishing.  There  was  an  imposing  staircase  with 
hand-rails  of  walnut  and  toe-strips  of  brass.  An  in- 
viting corner  was  devoted  to  a  news  and  cigar-stand. 
Where  the  staircase  curved  upward  the  clerk's  desk  and 
offices  had  been  located,  all  done  in  hardwood  and 
ornamented  by  novel  gas -fixtures.  One  could  see 
through  a  door  at  one  end  of  the  lobby  to  the  barber- 
shop, with  its  chairs  and  array  of  shaving-mugs.  Out- 
side were  usually  two  or  three  buses,  arriving  or  depart- 
ing, in  accordance  with  the  movement  of  the  trains. 

To  this  caravanserai  came  the  best  of  the  political  and 
social  patronage  of  the  State.  Several  Governors  had 
made  it  their  permanent  abiding  place  during  their  terms 
of  office.  The  two  United  States  Senators,  whenever 
business  called  them  to  Columbus,  invariably  maintained 
parlor  chambers  at  the  hotel.  One  of  them,  Senator 
Brander,  was  looked  upon  by  the  proprietor  as  more  or 
less  of  a  permanent  guest,  because  he  was  not  only  a 
resident  of  the  city,  but  an  otherwise  homeless  bachelor. 
Other  and  more  transient  guests  included  Congressmen, 
State  legislators  and  lobbyists,  merchants,  professional 
men,  and,  after  them,  the  whole  raft  of  indescribables 
who,  coming  and  going,  make  up  the  glow  and  stir  of 
this  kaleidoscopic  world. 

Mother  and  daughter,  suddenly  flung  into  this  realm  of 
superior  brightness,  felt  immeasurably  overawed.  They 
went  about  too  timid  to  touch  anything  for  fear  of  giving 
offense.  The  great  red-carpeted  hallway,  which  they 
were  set  to  sweep,  had  for  them  all  the  magnificence  of  a 

5 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

palace;  they  kept  their  eyes  down  and  spoke  in  then 
lowest  tones.  When  it  came  to  scrubbing  the  steps  and 
polishing  the  brass -work  of  the  splendid  stairs  both 
needed  to  steel  themselves,  the  mother  against  her 
timidity,  the  daughter  against  the  shame  at  so  public 
an  exposure.  Wide  beneath  lay  the  imposing  lobby,  and 
men,  lounging,  smoking,  passing  constantly  in  and  out, 
could  see  them  both. 

"  Isn't  it  fine?"  whispered  Genevieve,  and  started  ner- 
vously at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

"Yes,"  returned  her  mother,  who,  upon  her  knees, 
was  wringing  out  her  cloth  with  earnest  but  clumsy 
hands. 

"  It  must  cost  a  good  deal  to  live  here,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  her  mother.  "Don't  forget  to  rub  into 
these  little  corners.  Look  here  what  you've  left." 

Jennie,  mortified  by  this  correction,  fell  earnestly  to 
her  task,  and  polished  vigorously,  without  again  daring 
to  lift  her  eyes. 

With  painstaking  diligence  they  worked  downward 
until  about  five  o'clock;  it  was  dark  outside,  and  all  the 
lobby  was  brightly  lighted.  Now  they  were  very  near 
the  bottom  of  the  stairway. 

Through  the  big  swinging  doors  there  entered  from  the 
chilly  world  without  a  tall,  distinguished,  middle-aged 
gentleman,  whose  silk  hat  and  loose  military  cape-coat 
marked  him  at  once,  among  the  crowd  of  general  idlers, 
as  some  one  of  importance.  His  face  was  of  a  dark  and 
solemn  cast,  but  broad  and  sympathetic  in  its  lines,  and 
his  bright  eyes  were  heavily  shaded  with  thick,  bushy, 
black  eyebrows.  Passing  to  the  desk  he  picked  up  the 
key  that  had  already  been  laid  out  for  him,  and  coming 
to  the  staircase,  started  up. 

The  middle-aged  woman,  scrubbing  at  his  feet,  he 
acknowledged  not  only  by  walking  around  her,  but  by 
graciously  waving  his  hand,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Don't 
move  forme." 

6 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

The  daughter,  however,  caught  his  eye  by  standing  up, 
her  troubled  glance  showing  that  she  feared  she  was  in 
his  way. 

He  bowed  and  smiled  pleasantly. 

"You   shouldn't   have  troubled   yourself,"   he   said. 

Jennie  only  smiled. 

When  he  had  reached  the  upper  landing  an  impulsive 
sidewise  glance  assured  him,  more  clearly  than  before, 
of  her  uncommonly  prepossessing  appearance.  He 
noted  the  high,  white  forehead,  with  its  smoothly  parted 
and  plaited  hair.  The  eyes  he  saw  were  blue  and  the 
complexion  fair.  He  had  even  time  to  admire  the 
mouth  and  the  full  cheeks — above  all,  the  well-rounded, 
graceful  form,  full  of  youth,  health,  and  that  hopeful 
expectancy  which  to  the  middle-aged  is  so  suggestive 
of  all  that  is  worth  begging  of  Providence.  Without 
another  look  he  went  dignifiedly  upon  his  way,  but  the 
impression  of  her  charming  personality  went  with  him. 
This  was  the  Hon.  George  Sylvester  Brander,  junior 
Senator. 

"Wasn't  that  a  fine-looking  man  who  went  up  just 
now?"  observed  Jennie  a  few  moments  later. 

"Yes,  he  was,"  said  her  mother. 

"He  had  a  gold-headed  cane." 

"You  mustn't  stare  at  people  when  they  pass," 
cautioned  her  mother,  wisely.  "It  isn't  nice." 

"I  didn't  stare  at  him/'  returned  Jennie,  innocently. 
"He  bowed  to  me." 

"Well,  don't  you  pay  any  attention  to  anybody," 
said  her  mother.  "They  may  not  like  it." 

Jennie  fell  to  her  task  in  silence,  but  the  glamor  of 
the  great  world  was  having  its  effect  upon  her  senses. 
She  could  not  help  giving  ear  to  the  sounds,  the  bright- 
ness, the  buzz  of  conversation  and  laughter  surrounding 
her.  In  one  section  of  the  parlor  floor  was  the  dining- 
room,  and  from  the  clink  of  dishes  one  could  tell  that 
supper  was  being  prepared.  In  another  was  the  parlor 

7 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

proper,  and  there  some  one  came  to  play  on  the  piano. 
That  feeling  of  rest  and  relaxation  which  comes  before 
the  evening  meal  pervaded  the  place.  It  touched  the 
heart  of  the  innocent  working-girl  with  hope,  for  hers 
were  the  years,  and  poverty  could  not  as  yet  fill  her 
young  mind  with  cares.  She  rubbed  diligently  always, 
and  sometimes  forgot  the  troubled  mother  at  her  side, 
whose  kindly  eyes  were  becoming  invested  with  crows' 
feet,  and  whose  lips  half  repeated  the  hundred  cares  of 
the  day.  She  could  only  think  that  all  of  this  was  very 
fascinating,  and  wish  that  a  portion  of  it  might  come  to 
her. 

At  half-past  five  the  housekeeper,  remembering  them, 
came  and  told  them  that  they  might  go.  The  fully 
finished  stairway  was  relinquished  by  both  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and,  after  putting  their  implements  away,  they 
hastened  homeward,  the  mother,  at  least,  pleased  to 
think  that  at  last  she  had  something  to  do. 

As  they  passed  several  fine  houses  Jennie  was  again 
touched  by  that  half-defined  emotion  which  the  un- 
wonted novelty  of  the  hotel  life  had  engendered  in  her 
consciousness. 

"Isn't  it  fine  to  be  rich?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  answered  her  mother,  who  was  thinking  of 
the  suffering  Veronica. 

"  Did  you  see  what  a  big  dining-room  they  had  there  ?" 

"Yes." 

They  went  on  past  the  low  cottages  and  among  the 
dead  leaves  of  the  year. 

"I  wish  we  were  rich,"  murmured  Jennie,  half  to 
herself. 

"I  don't  know  just  what  to  do,"  confided  her  mother 
with  a  long-drawn  sigh.  "  I  don't  believe  there's  a  thing 
to  eat  in  the  house." 

"Let's  stop  and  see  Mr.  Bauman  again,"  exclaimed 
Jennie,  her  natural  sympathies  restored  by  the  hopeless 
note  in  her  mother's  voice. 

8 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Do  you  think  he  would  trust  us  any  more?" 

"Let's  tell  him  where  we're  working.     I  will." 

"Well,"  said  her  mother,  wearily. 

Into  the  small,  dimly  lighted  grocery  store,  which  was 
two  blocks  from  their  house,  they  ventured  nervously. 
Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  about  to  begin,  but  Jennie  spoke  first. 

"Will  you  let  us  have  some  bread  to-night,  and  a  little 
bacon?  We're  working  now  at  the  Columbus  House, 
and  we'll  be  sure  to  pay  you  Saturday." 

"Yes,"  added  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  "I  have  something  to 
do." 

Bauman,  who  had  long  supplied  them  before  illness 
and  trouble  began,  knew  that  they  told  the  truth. 

"How  long  have  you  been  working  there?"  he  asked. 

"Just  this  afternoon." 

"You  know,  Mrs.  Gerhardt,"  he  said,  "how  it  is  with 
me.  I  don't  want  to  refuse  you.  Mr.  Gerhardt  is  good 
for  it,  but  I  am  poor,  too.  Times  are  hard,"  he  ex- 
plained further,  "  I  have  my  family  to  keep." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  weakly. 

Her  old  shoddy  shawl  hid  her  rough  hands,  red  from 
the  day's  work,  but  they  were  working  nervously. 
Jennie  stood  by  in  strained  silence. 

"Well,"  concluded  Mr.  Bauman,  "I  guess  it's  all  right 
this  time.  Do  what  you  can  for  me  Saturday." 

He  wrapped  up  the  bread  and  bacon,  and,  handing 
Jennie  the  parcel,  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  cynicism: 

"When  you  get  money  again  I  guess  you'll  go  and 
trade  somewhere  else." 

"No,"  returned  Mrs.  Gerhardt ;  "you  know  better  than 
that."  But  she  was  too  nervous  to  parley  long. 

They  went  out  into  the  shadowy  street,  and  on  past 
the  low  cottages  to  their  own  home. 

"I  wonder,"  said  the  mother,  wearily,  when  they 
neared  the  door,  "if  they've  got  any  coal?" 

"Don't  worry,"  said  Jennie.  "If  they  haven't  I'll 
go." 

9 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"A  man  run  us  away,"  was  almost  the  first  greeting 
that  the  perturbed  George  offered  when  the  mother 
made  her  inquiry  about  the  coal.  "I  got  a  little, 
though."  he  added.  "I  threw  it  off  a  car." 

Mis.  Gerhardt  only  smiled,  but  Jennie  laughed. 

"How  is  Veronica?"  she  inquired. 

44  She  seems  to  be  sleeping/'  said  the  father.  "  I  gave 
her  medicine  again  at  five." 

While  the  scanty  meal  was  being  prepared  the  mother 
went  to  the  sick  child's  bedside,  taking  up  another  long 
night's  vigil  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 

While  the  supper  was  being  eaten  Sebastian  offered  a 
suggestion,  and  his  larger  experience  in  social  and  com- 
mercial matters  made  his  proposition  worth  considering. 
Though  only  a  car-builder's  apprentice,  without  any 
education  except  such  as  pertained  to  Lutheran  doc- 
trine, to  which  he  objected  very  strongly,  he  was  imbued 
with  American  color  and  energy.  His  transformed 
name  of  Bass  suited  him  exactly.  Tall,  athletic,  and 
well-featured  for  his  age,  he  was  a  typical  stripling  of  the 
town.  Already  he  had  formulated  a  philosophy  of  life. 
To  succeed  one  must  do  something — one  must  associate, 
or  at  least  seem  to  associate,  with  those  who  were  fore- 
most in  the  world  of  appearances. 

For  this  reason  the  young  boy  loved  to  hang  about 
the  Columbus  House.  It  seemed  to  him  that  this  hotel 
was  the  center  and  circumference  of  all  that  was  worth 
while  in  the  social  sense.  He  would  go  down-town 
evenings,  when  he  first  secured  money  enough  to  buy 
a  decent  suit  of  clothes,  and  stand  around  the  hotel  en- 
trance with  his  friends,  kicking  his  heels,  smoking  a  two- 
for-five-cent  cigar,  preening  himself  on  his  stylish  ap- 
pearance, and  looking  after  the  girls.  Others  were  there 
with  him — town  dandies  and  nobodies,  young  men  who 
came  there  to  get  shaved  or  to  drink  a  glass  of  whisky. 
And  all  of  these  he  admired  and  sought  to  emulate. 
Clothes  were  the  main  touchstone.  If  men  wore  nice 

10 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

clothes  and  had  rings  and  pins,  whatever  they  did  seemed 
appropriate.  He  wanted  to  be  like  them  and  to  act  like 
them,  and  so  his  experience  of  the  more  pointless  forms 
of  life  rapidly  broadened. 

"Why  don't  you  get  some  of  those  hotel  fellows  to 
give  you  their  laundry?"  he  asked  of  Jennie  after  she 
had  related  the  afternoon's  experiences.  "It  would  be 
better  than  scrubbing  the  stairs." 

"How  do  you  get  it?"  she  replied. 

"Why,  ask  the  clerk,  of  course." 

This  plan  struck  Jennie  as  very  much  worth  while. 

"Don't  you  ever  speak  to  me  if  you  meet  me  around 
there,"  he  cautioned  her  a  little  later,  privately.  "  Don't 
you  let  on  that  you  know  me." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  innocently. 

"Well,  you  know  why,"  he  answered,  having  indi- 
cated before  that  when  they  looked  so  poor  he  did  not 
want  to  be  disgraced  by  having  to  own  them  as  relatives. 
"Just  you  go  on  by.  Do  you  hear?" 

"All  right,"  she  returned,  meekly,  for  although  this 
youth  was  not  much  over  a  year  her  senior,  his  superior 
will  dominated. 

The  next  day  on  their  way  to  the  hotel  she  spoke  of  it 
to  her  mother. 

"Bass  said  we  might  get  some  of  the  laundry  of  the 
men  at  the  hotel  to  do." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt,  whose  mind  had  been  straining  all 
night  at  the  problem  of  adding  something  to  the  three 
dollars  which  her  six  afternoons  would  bring  her,  ap- 
proved of  the  idea. 

"So  we  might,"  she  said.     "I'll  ask  that  clerk/' 

When  they  reached  the  hotel,  however,  no  imme- 
diate opportunity  presented  itself.  They  worked  on 
until  late  in  the  afternoon.  Then,  as  fortune  would 
have  it,  the  housekeeper  sent  them  in  to  scrub  up  the 
floor  behind  the  clerk's  desk.  That  important  individual 
felt  very  kindly  toward  mother  and  daughter.  He  liked 

ii 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

the  former's  sweetly  troubled  countenance  and  the 
latter's  pretty  face.  So  he  listened  graciously  when 
Mrs.  Gerhardt  ventured  meekly  to  put  the  question 
which  she  had  been  revolving  in  her  mind  all  the  after- 
noon. 

"Is  there  any  gentleman  here,"  she  said,  "who  would 
give  me  his  washing  to  do  ?  I'd  be  so  very  much  obliged 
for  it." 

The  clerk  looked  at  her,  and  again  recognized  that 
absolute  want  was  written  all  over  her  anxious  face. 

"Let's  see,"  he  answered,  thinking  of  Senator  Brander 
and  Marshall  Hopkins.  Both  were  charitable  men,  who 
would  be  more  than  glad  to  aid  a  poor  woman.  "  You 
go  up  and  see  Senator  Brander,"  he  continued.  "He's 
in  twenty-two.  Here,"  he  added,  writing  out  the  num- 
ber, "you  go  up  and  tell  him  I  sent  you." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  took  the  card  with  a  tremor  of  grateful- 
ness. Her  eyes  looked  the  words  she  could  not  say. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  clerk,  observing  her  emo- 
tion. "You  go  right  up.  You'll  find  him  in  his  room 
now." 

With  the  greatest  diffidence  Mrs.  Gerhardt  knocked  at 
number  twenty-two.  Jennie  stood  silently  at  her  side. 

After  a  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  in  the  full 
radiance  of  the  bright  room  stood  the  Senator.  Attired 
in  a  handsome  smoking-coat,  he  looked  younger  than  at 
their  first  meeting. 

"Well,  madam,"  he  said,  recognizing  the  couple,  and 
particularly  the  daughter,  "what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Very  much  abashed,  the  mother  hesitated  in  her  reply. 

"We  would  like  to  know  if  you  have  any  washing  you 
could  let  us  have  to  do?" 

"Washing?"  he  repeated  after  her,  in  a  voice  which 
had  a  peculiarly  resonant  quality.  "Washing?  Come 
right  in.  Let  me  see." 

He  stepped  aside  with  much  grace,  waved  them  in  and 
closed  the  door.  "Let  me  see,"  he  repeated,  opening 

12 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

and  closing  drawer  after  drawer  of  the  massive  black- 
walnut  bureau.  Jennie  studied  the  room  with  interest. 
Such  an  array  of  nicknacks  and  pretty  things  on  mantel 
and  dressing-case  she  had  never  seen  before.  The 
Senator's  easy  chair,  with  a  green-shaded  lamp  beside  it, 
the  rich  heavy  carpet  and  the  fine  rugs  upon  the  floor — 
what  comfort,  what  luxury! 

"Sit  down;  take  those  two  chairs  there,"  said  the 
Senator,  graciously,  disappearing  into  a  closet. 

Still  overawed,  mother  and  daughter  thought  it  more 
polite  to  decline,  but  now  the  Senator  had  completed  his 
researches  and  he  reiterated  his  invitation.  Very  un- 
comfortably they  yielded  and  took  chairs. 

"Is  this  your  daughter?"  he  continued,  with  a  smile 
at  Jennie. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  mother;  "she's  my  oldest  girl." 

"  Is  your  husband  alive  ?" 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

To  all  of  these  questions  Mrs.  Gerhardt  very  humbly 
answered. 

"  How  many  children  have  you  ?"  he  went  on. 

"Six,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt. 

"Well,"  he  returned,  "that's  quite  a  family.  You've 
certainly  done  your  duty  to  the  nation." 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  who  was  touched 
by  his  genial  and  interesting  manner. 

"And  you  say  this  is  your  oldest  daughter?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  does  your  husband  do?" 

"He's  a  glass-blower.     But  he's  sick  now." 

During  the  colloquy  Jennie's  large  blue  eyes  were 
wide  with  interest.  Whenever  he  looked  at  her  she 
turned  upon  him  such  a  frank,  unsophisticated  gaze, 
and  smiled  in  such  a  vague,  sweet  way,  that  he  could  not 
keep  hist  eyes  off  of  her  for  more  than  a  minute  of  the 
time. 

13 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Well,"  he  continued,  sympathetically,  "that  is  too 
bad!  I  have  some  washing  here — not  very  much — but 
you  are  welcome  to  it.  Next  week  there  may  be  more." 

He  went  about  now,  stuffing  articles  of  apparel  into  a 
blue  cotton  bag  with  a  pretty  design  on  the  side. 

"  Do  you  want  these  any  certain  day  ?"  questioned  Mrs. 
Gerhardt. 

"No,"  he  said,  reflectively;  "any  day  next  week  will 
do." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  simple  phrase,  and  started  to 

go- 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  stepping  ahead  of  them  and 
opening  the  door,  "you  may  bring  them  back  Monday." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt.     "Thank  you." 

They  went  out  and  the  Senator  returned  to  his  read- 
ing, but  it  was  with  a  peculiarly  disturbed  mind. 

"Too  bad,"  he  said,  closing  his  volume.  "There's 
something  very  pathetic  about  those  people."  Jennie's 
spirit  of  wonder  and  appreciation  was  abroad  in  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  and  Jennie  made  their  way  anew 
through  the  shadowy  streets.  They  felt  immeasurably 
encouraged  by  this  fortunate  venture. 

"  Didn't  he  have  a  fine  room  ?"  whispered  Jennie. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  mother;  "he's  a  great  man." 

"He's  a  senator,  isn't  he?"  continued  the  daughter. 

"Yes." 

44  It  must  be  nice  to  be  famous,"  said  the  girl,  softly. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  spirit  of  Jennie — who  shall  express  it?  This 
daughter  of  poverty,  who  was  now  to  fetch  and 
carry  the  laundry  of  this  distinguished  citizen  of  Colum- 
bus, was  a  creature  of  a  mellowness  of  temperament 
which  words  can  but  vaguely  suggest.  There  are  natures 
born  to  the  inheritance  of  flesh  that  come  without  under- 
standing, and  that  go  again  without  seeming  to  have 
wondered  why.  Life,  so  long  as  they  endure  it,  is  a  true 
wonderland,  a  thing  of  infinite  beauty,  which  could  they 
but  wander  into  it  wonderingly,  would  be  heaven  enough. 
Opening  their  eyes,  they  see  a  conformable  and  perfect 
world.  Trees,  flowers,  the  world  of  sound  and  the  world 
of  color.  These  are  the  valued  inheritance  of  their  state. 
If  no  one  said  to  them  "Mine,"  they  would  wander 
radiantly  forth,  singing  the  song  which  all  the  earth 
may  some  day  hope  to  hear.  It  is  the  song  of  good- 
ness. 

Caged  in  the  world  of  the  material,  however,  such  a 
nature  is  almost  invariably  an  anomaly.  That  other 
world  of  flesh  into  which  has  been  woven  pride  and  greed 
looks  askance  at  the  idealist,  the  dreamer.  If  one  says  it 
is  sweet  to  look  at  the  clouds,  the  answer  is  a  warning 
against  idleness.  If  one  seeks  to  give  ear  to  the  winds, 
it  shall  be  well  with  his  soul,  but  they  will  seize 
upon  his  possessions.  If  all  the  world  of  the  so-called 
inanimate  delay  one,  calling  with  tenderness  in  sounds 
that  seem  to  be  too  perfect  to  be  less  than  understanding, 
it  shall  be  ill  with  the  body.  The  hands  of  the  actual 
are  forever  reaching  toward  such  as  these — forever 

IS 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

seizing  greedily  upon  them.  It  is  of  such  that  the  bond 
servants  are  made. 

In  the  world  of  the  actual,  Jennie  was  such  a  spirit. 
From  her  earliest  youth  goodness  and  mercy  had  molded 
her  every  impulse.  Did  Sebastian  fall  and  injure  him- 
self, it  was  she  who  struggled  with  straining  anxiety, 
carried  him  safely  to  his  mother.  Did  George  complain 
that  he  was  hungry,  she  gave  him  all  of  her  bread.  Many 
were  the  hours  in  which  she  had  rocked  her  younger 
brothers  and  sisters  to  sleep,  singing  whole-heartedly 
betimes  and  dreaming  far  dreams.  Since  her  earliest 
walking  period  she  had  been  as  the  right  hand  of  her 
mother.  What  scrubbing,  baking,  errand-running,  and 
nursing  there  had  been  to  do  she  did.  No  one  had  ever 
heard  her  rudely  complain,  though  she  often  thought  of 
the  hardness  of  her  lot.  She  knew  that  there  were  other 
girls  whose  lives  were  infinitely  freer  and  fuller,  but,  it 
never  occurred  to  her  to  be  meanly  envious;  her  heart 
might  be  lonely,  but  her  lips  continued  to  sing.  When 
the  days  were  fair  she  looked  out  of  her  kitchen  window 
and  longed  to  go  where  the  meadows  were.  Nature's 
fine  curves  and  shadows  touched  her  as  a  song  itself. 
There  were  times  when  she  had  gone  with  George  and  the 
others,  leading  them  away  to  where  a  patch  of  hickory- 
trees  flourished,  because  there  were  open  fields,  with 
shade  for  comfort  and  a  brook  of  living  water.  No  artist 
in  the  formulating  of  conceptions,  her  soul  still  responded 
to  these  things,  and  every  sound  and  every  sigh  were 
welcome  to  her  because  of  their  beauty. 

When  the  soft,  low  call  or  the  wood-doves,  those 
spirits  of  the  summer,  came  out  of  the  distance,  she 
would  incline  her  head  and  listen,  the  whole  spiritual 
quality  of  it  dropping  like  silver  bubbles  into  her  own 
great  heart. 

Where  the  sunlight  was  warm  and  the  shadows  flecked 
with  its  splendid  radiance  she  delighted  to  wonder  at  the 
pattern  of  it,  to  walk  where  it  was  most  golden,  and 

16 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

follow  with  instinctive  appreciation  the  holy  corridors  of 
the  trees. 

Color  was  not  lost  upon  her.  That  wonderful  radiance 
which  fills  the  western  sky  at  evening  touched  and  unbur- 
dened her  heart. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  once  with  girlish  simplicity, "how 
it  would  feel  to  float  away  off  there  among  those  clouds." 

She  had  discovered  a  natural  swing  of  a  wild  grape- 
vine, and  was  sitting  in  it  with  Martha  and  George. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  you  had  a  boat  up  there," 
said  George. 

She  was  looking  with  uplifted  face  at  a  far-off  cloud, 
a  red  island  in  a  sea  of  silver. 

"Just  supposing,"  she  said,  "people  could  live  on  an 
island  like  that." 

Her  soul  was  already  up  there,  and  its  elysian  paths 
knew  the  lightness  of  her  feet. 

"There  goes  a  bee,"  said  George,  noting  a  bumbler 
winging  by. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  dreamily,  "it's  going  home." 

"  Does  everything  have  a  home  ?"  asked  Martha. 

"Nearly  everything,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  the  birds  go  home  ?"  questioned  George. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  deeply  feeling  the  poetry  of  it  her- 
self, "the  birds  go  home." 

"Do  the  bees  go  home?"  urged  Martha. 

"  Yes,  the  bees  go  home." 

"Do  the  dogs  go  home?"  said  George,  who  saw  one 
traveling  lonesomely  along  the  nearby  road. 

"Why,  of  course,"  she  said,  "you  know  that  dogs  go 
home." 

"  Do  the  gnats  ?"  he  persisted,  seeing  one  of  those  curi- 
ous spirals  of  minute  insects  turning  energetically  in  the 
waning  light. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  half  believing  her  remark.     "  Listen !" 

"Oho,"  exclaimed  George,  incredulously,  "I  wonder 
what  kind  of  houses  they  live  in." 

17 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Listen!"  she  gently  persisted,  putting  out  her  hand 
to  still  him. 

It  was  that  halcyon  hour  when  the  Angelus  falls  like  a 
benediction  upon  the  waning  day.  Far  off  the  notes 
were  sounding  gently,  and  nature,  now  that  she  listened, 
seemed  to  have  paused  also.  A  scarlet-breasted  robin 
was  hopping  in  short  spaces  upon  the  grass  before  her. 
A  humming  bee  hummed,  a  cow-bell  tinkled,  while  some 
suspicious  cracklings  told  of  a  secretly  reconnoitering 
squirrel.  Keeping  her  pretty  hand  weighed  in  the  air, 
she  listened  until  the  long,  soft  notes  spread  and  faded 
and  her  heart  could  hold  no  more.  Then  she  arose. 

"Oh/*  she  said,  clenching  her  fingers  in  an  agony  of 
poetic  feeling.  There  were  crystal  tears  overflowing  in 
her  eyes.  The  wondrous  sea  of  feeling  in  her  had  stormed 
its  banks.  Of  such  was  the  spirit  of  Jennie. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  junior  Senator,  George  Sylvester  Brander,  was 
a  man  of  peculiar  mold.  In  him  there  were 
joined,  to  a  remarkable  degree,  the  wisdom  of  the  oppor- 
tunist and  the  sympathetic  nature  of  the  true  represen- 
tative of  the  people.  Born  a  native  of  southern  Ohio,  he 
had  been  raised  and  educated  there,  if  one  might  except 
the  two  years  in  which  he  had  studied  law  at  Columbia 
University.  He  knew  common  and  criminal  law,  per- 
haps, as  well  as  any  citizen  of  his  State,  but  he  had  never 
practised  with  that  assiduity  which  makes  for  pre- 
eminent success  at  the  bar.  He  had  made  money,  and 
had  had  splendid  opportunities  to  make  a  great  deal 
more  if  he  had  been  willing  to  stultify  his  conscience,  but 
that  he  had  never  been  able  to  do.  And  yet  his  integrity 
had  not  been  at  all  times  proof  against  the  claims  of 
friendship.  Only  in  the  last  presidential  election  he  had 
thrown  his  support  to  a  man  for  Governor  who,  he  well 
knew,  had  no  claim  which  a  strictly  honorable  conscience 
could  have  recognized. 

In  the  same  way,  he  had  been  guilty  of  some  very 
questionable,  and  one  or  two  actually  unsavory,  appoint- 
ments. Whenever  his  conscience  pricked  him  too 
keenly  he  would  endeavor  to  hearten  himself  with  his 
pet  phrase,  "All  in  a  lifetime."  Thinking  over  things 
quite  alone  in  his  easy- chair,  he  would  sometimes  rise  up 
with  these  words  on  his  lips,  and  smile  sheepishly  as  he 
did  so.  Conscience  was  not  by  any  means  dead  in  him. 
His  sympathies,  if  anything,  were  keener  than  ever. 

This  man,  three  times  Congressman  from  the  district 
3  19 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

of  which  Columbus  was  a  part,  and  twice  United  States 
Senator,  had  never  married.  In  his  youth  he  had  had  a 
serious  love  affair,  but  there  was  nothing  discreditable  to 
him  in  the  fact  that  it  came  to  nothing.  The  lady  found 
it  inconvenient  to  wait  for  him.  He  was  too  long  in 
earning  a  competence  upon  which  they  might  subsist. 

Tall,  straight-shouldered,  neither  lean  nor  stout,  he 
was  to-day  an  imposing  figure.  Having  received  his 
hard  knocks  and  endured  his  losses,  there  was  that  about 
him  which  touched  and  awakened  the  sympathies  of  the 
imaginative.  People  thought  him  naturally  agreeable, 
and  his  senatorial  peers  looked  upon  him  as  not  any  too 
heavy  mentally,  but  personally  a  fine  man. 

His  presence  in  Columbus  at  this  particular  time  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  his  political  fences  needed  careful 
repairing.  The  general  election  had  weakened  his  party 
in  the  State  Legislature.  There  were  enough  votes  to 
re-elect  him,  but  it  would  require  the  most  careful  politi- 
cal manipulation  to  hold  them  together.  Other  men 
were  ambitious.  There  were  a  half-dozen  available 
candidates,  any  one  of  whom  would  have  rejoiced  to 
step  into  his  shoes.  He  realized  the  exigencies  of  the 
occasion.  They  could  not  well  beat  him,  he  thought; 
but  even  if  this  should  happen,  surely  the  President  could 
be  induced  to  give  him  a  ministry  abroad. 

Yes,  he  might  be  called  a  successful  man,  but  for  all 
that  Senator  Brander  felt  that  he  had  missed  something. 
He  had  wanted  to  do  so  many  things.  Here  he  was, 
fifty-two  years  of  age,  clean,  honorable,  highly  distin- 
guished, as  the  world  takes  it,  but  single.  He  could  not 
help  looking  about  him  now  and  then  and  speculating 
upon  the  fact  that  he  had  no  one  to  care  for  him.  His 
chamber  seemed  strangely  hollow  at  times — his  own 
personality  exceedingly  disagreeable. 

"Fifty!"  he  often  thought  to  himself.  "Alone— 
absolutely  alone." 

Sitting  in  his  chamber  that  Saturday  afternoon,  a  rap 

20 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

at  his  door  aroused  him.  He  had  been  speculating 
upon  the  futility  of  his  political  energy  in  the  light  of  the 
impermanence  of  life  and  fame. 

"What  a  great  fight  we  make  to  sustain  ourselves ! "  he 
thought.  "How  little  difference  it  will  make  to  me  a 
few  years  hence !" 

He  arose,  and  opening  wide  his  door,  perceived  Jennie. 
She  had  come,  as  she  had  suggested  to  her  mother,  at 
this  time,  instead  of  on  Monday,  in  order  to  give  a  more 
favorable  impression  of  promptness. 

"Come  right  in,"  said  the  Senator;  and,  as  on  the  first 
occasion,  he  graciously  made  way  for  her. 

Jennie  passed  in,  momentarily  expecting  some  com- 
pliment upon  the  promptitude  with  which  the  washing 
had  been  done.  The  Senator  never  noticed  it  at  all. 

"Well,  my  young  lady,"  he  said  when  she  had  put  the 
bundle  down,  "how  do  you  find  yourself  this  evening?" 

"Very  well,"  replied  Jennie.  "We  thought  we'd 
better  bring  your  clothes  to-day  instead  of  Monday." 

"Oh,  that  would  not  have  made  any  difference,"  re- 
plied Brander  lightly.  "Just  leave  them  on  the  chair." 

Jennie,  without  considering  the  fact  that  she  had  been 
offered  no  payment  for  the  service  rendered,  was  about 
to  retire,  had  not  the  Senator  detained  her. 

"  How  is  your  mother  ?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 

"  She's  very  well,"  said  Jennie  simply. 

"  And  your  little  sister  ?     Is  she  any  better  ?" 

"The  doctor  thinks  so,"  she  replied. 

"Sit  down,"  he  continued  graciously.  "I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Moving  to  a  nearby  chair,  the  young  girl  seated  her- 
self. 

"Hem!"  he  went  on,  clearing  his  throat  lightly, 
"What  seems  to  be  the  matter  with  her?" 

"She  has  the  measles,"  returned  Jennie.  "We 
thought  once  that  she  was  going  to  die." 

Brander  studied  her  face  as  she  said  this,  and  he 

21 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

thought  he  saw  something  exceedingly  pathetic  there. 
The  girl's  poor  clothes  and  her  wondering  admiration 
for  his  exalted  station  in  life  affected  him.  It  made  him 
feel  almost  ashamed  of  the  comfort  and  luxury  that 
surrounded  him.  How  high  up  he  was  in  the  world, 
indeed ! 

"  I  am  glad  she  is  better  now,"  he  said  kindly.  "  How 
old  is  your  father?" 

"Fifty-seven." 

"And  is  he  any  better?" 

"Oh  yes,  sir;  he's  around  now,  although  he  can't  go 
out  just  yet." 

"  I  believe  your  mother  said  he  was  a  glass-blower  by 
trade?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Brander  well  knew  the  depressed  local  conditions  in 
this  branch  of  manufacture.  It  had  been  part  of  the 
political  issue  in  the  last  campaign.  They  must  be  in  a 
bad  way  truly. 

"  Do  all  of  the  children  go  to  school  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Why  yes,  sir,"  returned  Jennie,  stammering.  She 
was  too  shamefaced  to  own  that  one  of  the  children  had 
been  obliged  to  leave  school  for  the  lack  of  shoes.  The 
utterance  of  the  falsehood  troubled  her. 

He  reflected  awhile;  then  realizing  that  he  had  no 
good  excuse  for  further  detaining  her,  he  arose  and  came 
over  to  her.  From  his  pocket  he  took  a  thin  layer  of 
bills,  and  removing  one,  handed  it  to  her. 

"You  take  that,"  he  said,  "and  tell  your  mother  that 
I  said  she  should  use  it  for  whatever  she  wants." 

Jennie  accepted  the  money  with  mingled  feelings;  it 
did  not  occur  to  her  to  look  and  see  how  much  it  was. 
The  great  man  was  so  near  her,  the  wonderful  chamber  in 
which  he  dwelt  so  impressive,  that  she  scarcely  realized 
what  she  was  doing. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  Is  there  any  day  you  want 
your  washing  called  for?"  she  added. 

22 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

"Oh  yes,"  he  answered;  "Monday — Monday  even- 
ings." 

She  went  away,  and  in  a  half  reverie  he  closed  the  door 
behind  her.  The  interest  that  he  felt  in  these  people  was 
unusual.  Poverty  and  beauty  certainly  made  up  an 
affecting  combination.  He  sat  down  in  his  chair  and 
gave  himself  over  to  the  pleasant  speculations  which  her 
coming  had  aroused.  Why  should  he  not  help  them  ? 

"  I'll  find  out  where  they  live,"  he  finally  resolved. 

In  the  days  that  followed  Jennie  regularly  came  for 
the  clothes.  Senator  Brander  found  himself  more  and 
more  interested  in  her,  and  in  time  he  managed  to  re- 
move from  her  mind  that  timidity  and  fear  which  had 
made  her  feel  uncomfortable  in  his  presence.  One  thing 
which  helped  toward  this  was  his  calling  her  by  her  first 
name.  This  began  with  her  third  visit,  and  thereafter 
he  used  it  with  almost  unconscious  frequency. 

It  could  scarcely  be  said  that  he  did  this  in  a  fatherly 
spirit,  for  he  had  little  of  that  attitude  toward  any  one. 
He  felt  exceedingly  young  as  he  talked  to  this  girl,  and 
he  often  wondered  whether  it  were  not  possible  for  her 
to  perceive  and  appreciate  him  on  his  youthful  side. 

As  for  Jennie,  she  was  immensely  taken  with  the  com- 
fort and  luxury  surrounding  this  man,  and  subcon- 
sciously with  the  man  himself,  the  most  attractive  she 
had  ever  known.  Everything  he  had  was  fine,  every- 
thing he  did  was  gentle,  distinguished,  and  considerate. 
From  some  far  source,  perhaps  some  old  German  an- 
cestors, she  had  inherited  an  understanding  and  appre- 
ciation of  all  this.  Life  ought  to  be  lived  as  he  lived  it; 
the  privilege  of  being  generous  particularly  appealed  to 
her. 

Part  of  her  attitude  was  due  to  that  of  her  mother, 
in  whose  mind  sympathy  was  always  a  more  potent  factor 
than  reason.  For  instance,  when  she  brought  to  her  the 
ten  dollars  Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  transported  with  joy. 

"Oh,"  said  Jennie,  "I  didn't  know  until  I  got  outside 

23 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

that  it  was  so  much.  He  said  I  should  give  it  to 
you." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  took  it,  and  holding  it  loosely  in  her 
folded  hands,  saw  distinctly  before  her  the  tall  Senator 
with  his  fine  manners. 

"What  a  fine  man  he  is!"  she  said.  "He  has  a  good 
heart." 

Frequently  throughout  the  evening  and  the  next  day 
Mrs.  Gerhardt  commented  upon  this  wonderful  treasure- 
trove,  repeating  again  and  again  how  good  he  must  be  or 
how  large  must  be  his  heart.  When  it  came  to  washing 
his  clothes  she  almost  rubbed  them  to  pieces,  feeling  that 
whatever  she  did  she  could  scarcely  do  enough.  Gerhardt 
was  not  to  know.  He  had  such  stern  views  about  ac- 
cepting money  without  earning  it  that  even  in  their 
distress,  she  would  have  experienced  some  difficulty  in 
getting  him  to  take  it.  Consequently  she  said  nothing, 
but  used  it  to  buy  bread  and  meat,  and  going  as  it  did 
such  a  little  way,  the  sudden  windfall  was  never 
noticed. 

Jennie,  from  now  on,  reflected  this  attitude  toward  the 
Senator,  and,  feeling  so  grateful  toward  him,  she  began 
to  talk  more  freely.  They  came  to  be  on  such  good  terms 
that  he  gave  her  a  little  leather  picture-case  from  his 
dresser  which  he  had  observed  her  admiring.  Every 
time  she  came  he  found  excuse  to  detain  her,  and  soon 
discovered  that,  for  all  her  soft  girlishness,  there  lay 
deep-seated  in  her  a  conscious  deprecation  of  poverty 
and  a  shame  of  having  to  own  any  need.  He  honestly 
admired  her  for  this,  and,  seeing  that  her  clothes  were 
poor  and  her  shoes  worn,  he  began  to  wonder  how  he 
could  help  her  without  offending. 

Not  infrequently  he  thought  to  follow  her  some  even- 
ing, and  see  for  himself  what  the  condition  of  the  family 
might  be.  He  was  a  United  States  Senator,  however. 
The  neighborhood  they  lived  in  must  be  very  poor.  He 
stopped  to  consider,  and  for  the  time  the  counsels  of 

24 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

prudence  prevailed.  Consequently  the  contemplated 
visit  was  put  off. 

Early  in  December  Senator  Brander  returned  to  Wash- 
ington for  three  weeks,  and  both  Mrs.  Gerhardt  and 
Jennie  were  surprised  to  learn  one  day  that  he  had  gone. 
Never  had  he  given  them  less  than  two  dollars  a  week 
for  his  washing,  and  several  times  it  had  been  five.  He 
had  not  realized,  perhaps,  what  a  breach  his  absence 
would  make  in  their  finances.  But  there  was  nothing  to 
do  about  it;  they  managed  to  pinch  along.  Gerhardt, 
now  better,  searched  for  work  at  the  various  mills,  and 
finding  nothing,  procured  a  saw-buck  and  saw,  and  going 
from  door  to  door,  sought  for  the  privilege  of  sawing 
wood.  There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  this  to  do,  but  he 
managed,  by  the  most  earnest  labor  to  earn  two,  and 
sometimes  three,  dollars  a  week.  This  added  to  what  his 
wife  earned  and  what  Sebastian  gave  was  enough  to  keep 
bread  in  their  mouths,  but  scarcely  more. 

It  was  at  the  opening  of  the  joyous  Christmas-time 
that  the  bitterness  of  their  poverty  affected  them 
most.  The  Germans  love  to  make  a  great  display  at 
Christmas.  It  is  the  one  season  of  the  year  when  the 
fullness  of  their  large  family  affection  manifests  itself. 
Warm  in  the  appreciation  of  the  joys  of  childhood,  they 
love  to  see  the  little  ones  enjoy  their  toys  and  games. 
Father  Gerhardt  at  his  saw-buck  during  the  weeks  be- 
fore Christmas  thought  of  this  very  often.  What  would 
little  Veronica  not  deserve  after  her  long  illness!  How 
he  would  have  liked  to  give  each  of  the  children  a  stout 
pair  of  shoes,  the  boys  a  warm  cap,  the  girls  a  pretty 
hood.  Toys  and  games  and  candy  they  always  had  had 
before.  He  hated  to  think  of  the  snow-covered  Christ- 
mas morning  and  no  table  richly  piled  with  what  their 
young  hearts  would  most  desire. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  one  could  better  imagine  than 
describe  her  feelings.  She  felt  so  keenly  about  it  that 
she  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  speak  of  the  dreaded 

25 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

hour  to  her  husband.  She  had  managed  to  lay  aside 
three  dollars  in  the  hope  of  getting  enough  to  buy  a  ton 
of  coal,  and  so  put  an  end  to  poor  George's  daily  pilgrim- 
age to  the  coal  yard,  but  now  as  the  Christmas  week  drew 
near  she  decided  to  use  it  for  gifts.  Father  Gerhardt 
was  also  secreting  two  dollars  without  the  knowledge  of 
his  wife,  thinking  that  on  Christmas  Eve  he  could  produce 
it  at  a  critical  moment,  and  so  relieve  her  maternal 
anxiety. 

When  the  actual  time  arrived,  however,  there  was  very 
little  to  be  said  for  the  comfort  that  they  got  out  of  the 
occasion.  The  whole  city  was  rife  with  Christmas  at- 
mosphere. Grocery  stores  and  meat  markets  were 
strung  with  holly.  The  toy  shops  and  candy  stores 
were  radiant  with  fine  displays  of  everything  that  a 
self-respecting  Santa  Claus  should  have  about  him. 
Both  parents  and  children  observed  it  all — the  former 
with  serious  thoughts  of  need  and  anxiety,  the  latter 
with  wild  fancy  and  only  partially  suppressed  longings. 

Frequently  had  Gerhardt  said  in  their  presence : 

"Kriss  Kringle  is  very  poor  this  year.  He  hasn't  so 
very  much  to  give." 

But  no  child,  however  poverty-stricken,  could  be  made 
to  believe  this.  Every  time  after  so  saying  he  looked  in- 
to their  eyes,  but  in  spite  of  the  warning,  expectation 
flamed  in  them  undiminished. 

Christmas  coming  on  Tuesday,  the  Monday  before 
there  was  no  school.  Before  going  to  the  hotel  Mrs. 
Gerhardt  had  cautioned  George  that  he  must  bring 
enough  coal  from  the  yards  to  last  over  Christmas  day. 
The  latter  went  at  once  with  his  two  younger  sisters,  but 
there  being  a  dearth  of  good  picking,  it  took  them  a  long 
time  to  fill  their  baskets,  and  by  night  they  had  gathered 
only  a  scanty  supply. 

"Did  you  go  for  the  coal?"  asked  Mrs.  Gerhardt  the 
first  thing  when  she  returned  from  the  hotel  that  evening. 

"Yes,"  said  George. 

26 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Did  you  get  enough  for  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  guess  so." 

"Well,  now,  I'll  go  and  look,"  she  replied.  Taking 
the  lamp,  they  went  out  into  the  woodshed  where  the 
coal  was  deposited. 

"Oh,  myJ"  she  exclaimed  when  she  saw  it;  "why,  that 
isn't  near  enough.  You  must  go  right  off  and  get  some 
more." 

"Oh,"  said  George,  pouting  his  lips,  "I  don't  want  to 
go.  Let  Bass  go." 

Bass,  who  had  returned  promptly  at  a  quarter  past  six, 
was  already  busy  in  the  back  bedroom  washing  and 
dressing  preparatory  to  going  down-town. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt.  "  Bass  has  worked  hard  all 
day.  You  must  go." 

"I  don't  want  to,"  pouted  George. 

"All  right,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  "maybe  to-morrow 
you'll  be  without  a  fire,  and  then  what  ?" 

They  went  back  to  the  house,  but  George's  conscience 
was  too  troubled  to  allow  him  to  consider  the  case  as 
closed. 

"Bass,  you  come,  too,"  he  called  to  his  elder  brother 
when  he  was  inside. 

"Go  where?"  said  Bass. 

"To  get  some  coal." 

"No,"  said  the  former,  "I  guess  not.  What  do  you 
take  me  for?" 

"Well,  then,  I'll  not,"  said  George,  with  an  obstinate 
jerk  of  his  head. 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  it  up  this  afternoon  ?"  questioned 
his  brother  sharply;  "you've  had  all  day  to  do  it." 

"Aw,  I  did  try,"  said  George.  "We  couldn't  find 
enough.  I  can't  get  any  when  there  ain't  any,  can  I  ?" 

"  I  guess  you  didn't  try  very  hard,"  said  the  dandy. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  asked  Jennie,  who,  coming 
in  after  having  stopped  at  the  grocer's  for  her  mother, 
Baw  George  with  a  solemn  pout  on  his  face. 

27 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Oh,  Bass  won't  go  with  me  to  get  any  coal ?" 

"Didn't  you  get  any  this  afternoon?" 

"  Yes,"  said  George,  "but  ma  says  I  didn't  get  enough." 

^I'll  go  with  you,"  said  his  sister.  "Bass,  will  you 
come  along?" 

"No,"  said  the  young  man,  indifferently,  "I  won't." 
He  was  adjusting  his  necktie  and  felt  irritated. 

"There  ain't  any,"  said  George,  "unless  we  get  it  off 
the  cars.  There  wasn't  any  cars  where  I  was." 

"There  are,  too,"  exclaimed  Bass. 

"There  ain't,"  said  George. 

"Oh,  don't  quarrel,"  said  Jennie.  "Get  the  baskets 
and  let's  go  right  now  before  it  gets  too  late." 

The  other  children,  who  had  a  fondness  for  their  big 
sister,  got  out  the  implements  of  supply — Veronica  a 
basket,  Martha  and  William  buckets,  and  George,  a  big 
clothes-basket,  which  he  and  Jennie  were  to  fill  and  carry 
between  them.  Bass,  moved  by  his  sister's  willingness 
and  the  little  regard  he  still  maintained  for  her,  now 
made  a  suggestion. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,  Jen,"  he  said.  "You  go 
over  there  with  the  kids  to  Eighth  Street  and  wait  around 
those  cars.  I'll  be  along  in  a  minute.  When  I  come  by 
don't  any  of  you  pretend  to  know  me.  Just  you  say, 
'Mister,  won't  you  please  throw  us  some  coal  down?'  and 
then  Til  get  up  on  the  cars  and  pitch  off  enough  to  fill  the 
baskets.  D'ye  understand?" 

"All  right,"  said  Jennie,  very  much  pleased. 

Out  into  the  snowy  night  they  went,  and  made  their 
way  to  the  railroad  tracks.  At  the  intersection  of  the 
street  and  the  broad  railroad  yard  were  many  heavily 
laden  cars  of  bituminous  coal  newly  backed  in.  All  of 
the  children  gathered  within  the  shadow  of  one.  While 
they  were  standing  there,  waiting  the  arrival  of  their 
brother,  the  Washington  Special  arrived,  a  long,  fine 
train  with  several  of  the  new  style  drawing-room  cars, 
the  big  plate-glass  windows  shining  and  the  passengers 

28 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

looking  out  from  the  depths  of  their  comfortable  chairs. 
The  children  instinctively  drew  back  as  it  thundered 
past. 

"Oh,  wasn't  it  long?"  said  George. 

"Wouldn't  I  like  to  be  a  brakeman,  though,"  sighed 
William. 

Jennie,  alone,  kept  silent,  but  to  her  particularly  the 
suggestion  of  travel  and  comfort  had  appealed.  How 
beautiful  life  must  be  for  the  rich ! 

Sebastian  no*v  appeared  in  the  distance,  a  mannish 
spring  in  his  stride,  and  with  every  evidence  that  he 
took  himself  seriously.  He  was  of  that  peculiar  stub- 
bornness and  determination  that  had  the  children  failed 
to  carry  out  his  plan  of  procedure  he  would  have  gone 
deliberately  by  and  refused  to  help  them  at  all. 

Martha,  however,  took  the  situation  as  it  needed  to  be 
taken,  and  piped  out  childishly,  "Mister,  won't  you 
please  throw  us  down  some  coal?" 

Sebastian  stopped  abruptly,  and  looking  sharply  at 
them  as  though  he  were  really  a  stranger,  exclaimed, 
"Why,  certainly,"  and  proceeded  to  climb  up  on  the  car, 
from  whence  he  cast  down  with  remarkable  celerity 
more  than  enough  chunks  to  fill  their  baskets.  Then  as 
though  not  caring  to  linger  any  longer  amid  such  plebeian 
company,  he  hastened  across  the  network  of  tracks  and 
was  lost  to  view. 

On  their  way  home  they  encountered  another  gentle- 
man, this  time  a  real  one,  with  high  hat  and  distinguished 
cape  coat,  whom  Jennie  immediately  recognized.  This 
was  the  honorable  Senator  himself,  newly  returned  from 
Washington,  and  anticipating  a  very  unprofitable  Christ- 
mas. He  had  arrived  upon  the  express  which  had 
enlisted  the  attention  of  the  children,  and  was  carrying 
his  light  grip  for  the  pleasure  of  it  to  the  hotel.  As  he 
passed  he  thought  that  he  recognized  Jennie. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jennie  ?"  he  said,  and  paused  to  be  more 
certain. 

29 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

The  latter,  who  had  discovered  him  even  more  quickly 
than  he  had  her,  exclaimed,  "Oh,  there  is  Mr.  Brander!" 
Then,  dropping  her  end  of  the  basket,  with  a  caution  to 
the  children  to  take  it  right  home,  she  hurried  away  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

The  Senator  followed,  vainly  calling  three  or  four  times 
"Jennie!  Jennie!"  Losing  hope  of  overtaking  her,  and 
suddenly  recognizing,  and  thereupon  respecting,  her 
simple,  girlish  shame,  he  stopped,  and  turning  back,  de- 
cided to  follow  the  children.  Again  he  felt  that  same 
sensation  which  he  seemed  always  to  get  from  this  girl — 
the  far  cry  between  her  estate  and  his.  It  was  some- 
thing to  be  a  Senator  to-night,  here  where  these  children 
were  picking  coal.  What  could  the  joyous  holiday  of 
the  morrow  hold  for  them?  He  tramped  along  sym- 
pathetically, an  honest  lightness  coming  into  his  step, 
and  soon  he  saw  them  enter  the  gateway  of  the  low 
cottage.  Crossing  the  street,  he  stood  in  the  weak  shade 
of  the  snow-laden  trees.  The  light  was  burning  with  a 
yellow  glow  in  a  rear  window.  All  about  was  the  white 
snow.  In  the  woodshed  he  could  hear  the  voices  of  the 
children,  and  once  he  thought  he  detected  the  form  of 
Mrs.  Gerhardt .  After  a  time  another  form  came  shadow- 
like  through  the  side  gate.  He  knew  who  it  was.  It 
touched  him  to  the  quick,  and  he  bit  his  lip  sharply  to 
suppress  any  further  show  of  emotion.  Then  he  turned 
vigorously  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

The  chief  grocery  of  the  city  was  conducted  by  one 
Manning,  a  stanch  adherent  of  Brander,  and  one  who 
felt  honored  by  the  Senator's  acquaintance.  To  him  at 
his  busy  desk  came  the  Senator  this  same  night. 

"Manning,"  he  said,  "could  I  get  you  to  undertake  a 
little  work  for  me  this  evening?" 

"Why,  certainly,  Senator,  certainly,"  said  the  grocery- 
man.  "When  did  you  get  back?  Glad  to  see  you. 
Certainly." 

"I  want  you  to  get  everything  together  that  would 

30 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

make  a  nice  Christmas  for  a  family  of  eight — father  and 
mother  and  six  children — Christmas  tree,  groceries,  toys 
• — you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Certainly,  certainly,  Senator." 

"Never  mind  the  cost  now.  Send  plenty  of  every- 
thing. I'll  give  you  the  address,"  and  he  picked  up  a 
note-book  to  write  it. 

"Why,  I'll  be  delighted,  Senator,"  went  on  Mr.  Man- 
ning, rather  affected  himself.  "I'll  be  delighted.  You 
always  were  generous." 

"Here  you  are,  Manning,"  said  the  Senator,  grimly, 
from  the  mere  necessity  of  preserving  his  senatorial 
dignity.  "Send  everything  at  once,  and  the  bill  to 
me." 

"I'll  be  delighted,"  was  all  the  astonished  and  ap- 
proving grocery-man  could  say. 

The  Senator  passed  out,  but  remembering  the  old 
people,  visited  a  clothier  and  shoe  man,  and,  finding  that 
he  could  only  guess  at  what  sizes  might  be  required, 
ordered  the  several  articles  with  the  privilege  of  ex- 
change. When  his  labors  were  over,  he  returned  to  his 
room. 

"  Carrying  coal,"  he  thought,  over  and  over.  "  Really, 
it  was  very  thoughtless  in  me.  I  mustn't  forget  them 
any  more." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  desire  to  flee  which  Jennie  experienced  upon 
seeing  the  Senator  again  was  attributable  to  what 
she  considered  the  disgrace  of  her  position.  She  was 
ashamed  to  think  that  he,  who  thought  so  well  of  her, 
should  discover  her  doing  so  common  a  thing.  Girl- 
like,  she  was  inclined  to  imagine  that  his  interest  in  her 
depended  upon  something  else  than  her  mere  personality. 

When  she  reached  home  Mrs.  Gerhardt  had  heard  of 
her  flight  from  the  other  children. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  you,  anyhow?"  asked 
George,  when  she  came  in. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  she  answered,  but  immediately  turned 
to  her  mother  and  said,  "Mr.  Brander  came  by  and  saw 
us." 

"Oh,  did  he?"  softly  exclaimed  her  mother.  "He's 
back  then.  What  made  you  run,  though,  you  foolish  girl  ?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  want  him  to  see  me." 

"  Well,  maybe  he  didn't  know  you,  anyhow,"  she  said, 
with  a  certain  sympathy  for  her  daughter's  predicament. 

"Oh  yes,  he  did,  too,"  whispered  Jennie.  "He  called 
after  me  three  or  four  times." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  shook  her  head. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Gerhardt,  who  had  been  hearing 
the  conversation  from  the  adjoining  room,  and  now  came 
out. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  the  mother,  who  hated  to  explain 
the  significance  which  the  Senator's  personality  had 
come  to  have  in  their  lives.  "A  man  frightened  them 
when  they  were  bringing  the  coal." 

32 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

The  arrival  of  the  Christmas  presents  later  in  the  eve> 
ning  threw  the  household  into  an  uproar  of  excitement. 
Neither  Gerhardt  nor  the  mother  could  believe  their 
eyes  when  a  grocery  wagon  halted  in  front  of  their  cot- 
tage and  a  lusty  clerk  began  to  carry  in  the  gifts.  After 
failing  to  persuade  the  clerk  that  he  had  made  a  mistake, 
the  large  assortment  of  good  things  was  looked  over  with 
very  human  glee. 

"Just  you  never  mind,"  was  the  clerk's  authoritative 
words.  "I  know  what  I'm  about.  Gerhardt,  isn't  it? 
Well,  you're  the  people." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  moved  about,  rubbing  her  hands  in  her 
excitement,  and  giving  vent  to  an  occasional  "  Well,  isn't 
that  nice  now!" 

Gerhardt  himself  was  melted  at  the  thought  of  the 
generosity  of  the  unknown  benefactor,  and  was  inclined 
to  lay  it  all  to  the  goodness  of  a  great  local  mill  owner, 
who  knew  him  and  wished  him  well.  Mrs.  Gerhardt 
tearfully  suspected  the  source,  but  said  nothing.  Jennie 
knew,  by  instinct,  the  author  of  it  all. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  after  Christmas  Brander  en- 
countered the  mother  in  the  hotel,  Jennie  having  been 
left  at  home  to  look  after  the  house. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Gerhardt,"  he  exclaimed 
genially  extending  his  hand.  "  How  did  you  enjoy  your 
Christmas?" 

Poor  Mrs.  Gerhardt  took  it  nervously;  her  eyes  filled 
rapidly  with  tears. 

"There,  there,"  he  said,  patting  her  on  the  shoulder. 
"Don't  cry.  You  mustn't  forget  to  get  my  laundry 
to-day." 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  she  returned,  and  would  have  said  more 
had  he  not  walked  away. 

From  this  on,  Gerhardt  heard  continually  of  the  fine 
Senator  at  the  hotel,  how  pleasant  he  was,  and  how 
much  he  paid  for  his  washing.  With  the  simplicity  of 
a  German  workingman,  he  was  easily  persuaded  that 

33 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Mr.  Brander  must  be  a  very  great   and  a  very  good 
man. 

Jennie,  whose  feelings  needed  no  encouragement  in 
this  direction,  was  more  than  ever  prejudiced  in  his 
favor. 

There  was  developing  in  her  that  perfection  of  woman- 
hood, the  full  mold  of  form,  which  could  not  help  but 
attract  any  man.  Already  she  was  well  built,  and  tall 
for  a  girl.  Had  she  been  dressed  in  the  trailing  skirts 
of  a  woman  of  fashion  she  would  have  made  a  fitting 
companion  for  a  man  the  height  of  the  Senator.  Her 
eyes  were  wondrously  clear  and  bright,  her  skin  fair,  and 
her  teeth  white  and  even.  She  was  clever,  too,  in  a  sen- 
sible way,  and  by  no  means  deficient  in  observation. 
All  that  she  lacked  was  training  and  the  assurance  of 
which  the  knowledge  of  utter  dependency  despoils  one. 
But  the  carrying  of  washing  and  the  compulsion  to 
acknowledge  almost  anything  as  a  favor  put  her  at  a  dis- 
advantage. 

Nowadays  when  she  came  to  the  hotel  upon  her  semi- 
weekly  errand  Senator  Brander  took  her  presence  with 
easy  grace,  and  to  this  she  responded.  He  often  gave 
her  little  presents  for  herself,  or  for  her  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  he  talked  to  her  so  unaffectedly  that  finally 
the  overawing  sense  of  the  great  difference  between 
them  was  brushed  away,  and  she  looked  upon  him  more 
as  a  generous  friend  than  as  a  distinguished  Senator. 
He  asked  her  once  how  she  would  like  to  go  to  a  seminary, 
thinking  all  the  while  how  attractive  she  would  be  when 
she  came  out.  Finally,  one  evening,  he  called  her  to 
his  side. 

"  Come  over  here,  Jennie,"  he  said,  "and  stand  by  me." 

She  came,  and,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  took 
her  hand. 

"Well,  Jennie,"  he  said,  studying  her  face  in  a  quiz- 
zical, interrogative  way,  "what  do  you  think  of  me, 
anyhow?" 

34 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Oh,"  she  answered,  looking  consciously  away,  "1 
don't  know.  What  makes  you  ask  me  that?" 

"Oh  yes,  you  do,"  he  returned.  "You  have  some 
opinion  of  me.  Tell  me  now,  what  is  it?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  she  said,  innocently. 

"Oh  yes,  you  have,"  he  went  on,  pleasantly,  inter- 
ested  by  her  transparent  evasiveness.  "You  must 
think  something  of  me.  Now,  what  is  it?" 

"Do  you  mean  do  I  like  you?"  she  asked,  frankly, 
looking  down  at  the  big  mop  of  black  hair  well  streaked 
with  gray  which  hung  about  his  forehead,  and  gave  an 
almost  lionine  cast  to  his  fine  face. 

"Well,  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  sense  of  disappointment. 
She  was  barren  of  the  art  of  the  coquette. 

"Why,  of  course  I  like  you,"  she  replied,  pret- 
tily. 

"  Haven't  you  ever  thought  anything  else  about  me  ?" 
he  went  on. 

"I  think  you're  very  kind,"  she  went  on,  even  more 
bashfully ;  she  realized  now  that  he  was  still  holding  her 
hand. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked. 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  fluttering  eyelids,  "isn't  that 
enough?" 

He  looked  at  her,  and  the  playful,  companionable 
directness  of  her  answering  gaze  thrilled  him  through 
and  through.  He  studied  her  face  in  silence  while  she 
turned  and  twisted,  feeling,  but  scarcely  understanding, 
the  deep  import  of  his  scrutiny. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  think  you're  a  fine  girl. 
Don't  you  think  I'm  a  pretty  nice  man?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jennie,  promptly. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  at  the  un- 
conscious drollery  of  her  reply.  She  looked  at  him 
curiously,  and  smiled. 

"What  made  you  laugh?"  she  inquired. 

"  Oh,  your  answer  "  he  returned.  "  I  really  ought  not 
4  35 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

to   laugh,    though.     You    don't    appreciate   me  in  the 
least.     I  don't  believe  you  like  me  at  all." 

"But  I  do,  though,"  she  replied,  earnestly.  "I  think 
you're  so  good."  Her  eyes  showed  very  plainly  that  she- 
felt  what  she  was  saying. 

"Well,"  he  said,  drawing  her  gently  down  to  him; 
then,  at  the  same  instant,  he  pressed  his  lips  to  her 
cheek. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  straightening  up,  at  once  startled  and 
frightened. 

It  was  a  new  note  in  their  relationship.  The  sena- 
torial quality  vanished  in  an  instant.  She  recognized 
in  him  something  that  she  had  not  felt  before.  He 
seemed  younger,  too.  She  was  a  woman  to  him,  and  he 
was  playing  the  part  of  a  lover.  She  hesitated,  but  not 
knowing  just  what  to  do,  did  nothing  at  all. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "did  I  frighten  you?" 

She  looked  at  him,  but  moved  by  her  underlying 
respect  for  this  great  man,  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "Yes, 
you  did." 

"I  did  it  because  I  like  you  so  much." 

She  meditated  upon  this  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"I  think  I'd  better  be  going." 

"  Now  then,"  he  pleaded,  "are  you  going  to  run  away 
because  of  that?" 

"No,"  she  said,  moved  by  a  curious  feeling  of  in- 
gratitude ;  "  but  I  ought  to  be  going.  They'll  be  wonder- 
ing where  I  am." 

"You're  sure  you're  not  angry  about  it?" 

"No,"  she  replied,  and  with  more  of  a  womanly  air 
than  she  had  ever  shown  before.  It  was  a  novel  ex- 
perience to  be  in  so  authoritative  a  position.  It  was  so 
remarkable  that  it  was  somewhat  confusing  to  both  of 
them. 

"You're  my  girl,  anyhow,"  the  Senator  said,  rising. 
"I'm  going  to  take  care  of  you  in  the  future." 

Jennie  heard  this,  and  it  pleased  her.     He  was  so  well 

36 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

fitted,  she  thought,  to  do  wondrous  things;  he  was  noth- 
ing less  than  a  veritable  magician.  She  looked  about 
her.  and  the  thought  of  coming  into  such  a  life  and  such 
an  atmosphere  was  heavenly.  Not  that  she  fully  under- 
stood his  meaning,  however.  He  meant  to  be  good  and 
generous,  and  to  give  her  fine  things.  Naturally  she  was 
happy.  She  took  up  the  package  that  she  had  come 
for,  not  seeing  or  feeling  the  incongruity  of  her  position, 
while  he  felt  it  as  a  direct  reproof. 

"She  ought  not  to  carry  that,"  he  thought.  A  great 
wave  of  sympathy  swept  over  him.  He  took  her  cheeks 
between  his  hands,  this  time  in  a  superior  and  more 
generous  way.  "  Never  mind,  little  girl, ' '  he  said.  "  You 
won't  have  to  do  this  always.  I'll  see  what  I  can 
do." 

The  outcome  of  this  was  simply  a  more  sympathetic 
relationship  between  them.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  ask 
her  to  sit  beside  him  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  the  next 
time  she  came,  and  to  question  her  intimately  about 
the  family's  condition  and  her  own  desires.  Several 
times  he  noticed  that  she  was  evading  his  questions,  par- 
ticularly in  regard  to  what  her  father  was  doing.  She 
was  ashamed  to  own  that  he  was  sawing  wood.  Fearing 
lest  something  more  serious  was  impending,  he  decided 
to  go  out  some  day  and  see  for  himself. 

This  he  did  when  a  convenient  morning  presented 
itself  and  his  other  duties  did  not  press  upon  him.  It 
was  three  days  before  the  great  fight  in  the  Legislature 
began  which  ended  in  his  defeat.  Nothing  could  be 
done  in  these  few  remaining  days.  So  he  took  his  cane 
and  strolled  forth,  coming  to  the  cottage  in  the  course  of 
a  half  hour,  and  knocked  boldly  at  the  door. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  opened  it. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said,  cheerily;  then,  seeing  her 
hesitate,  he  added,  "May  I  come  in?" 

The  good  mother,  who  was  all  but  overcome  by  his 
astonishing  presence,  wiped  her  hands  furtively  upon 

37 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

her  much-mended  apron,  and,  seeing  that  he  waited  for 
a  reply,  said: 

"Oh  yes.     Come  right  in." 

She  hurried  forward,  forgetting  to  close  the  door,  and, 
offering  him  a  chair,  asked  him  to  be  seated. 

Brander,  feeling  sorry  that  he  was  the  occasion  of  so 
much  confusion,  said:  "Don't  trouble  yourself,  Mrs. 
Gerhardt.  I  was  passing  and  thought  I'd  come  in. 
How  is  your  husband?" 

" He's  well,  thank  you,"  returned  the  mother.  "He's 
out  working  to-day." 

"Then  he  has  found  employment?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  who  hesitated,  like 
Jennie,  to  say  what  it  was. 

"  The  children  are  all  well  now,  and  in  school,  I  hope  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gerhardt.  She  had  now  unfast- 
ened her  apron,  and  was  nervously  turning  it  in  her  lap. 

"That's  good,  and  where  is  Jennie?" 

The  latter,  who  had  been  ironing,  had  abandoned  the 
board  and  had  concealed  herself  in  the  bedroom,  where 
she  was  busy  tidying  herself  in  the  fear  that  her  mother 
would  not  have  the  forethought  to  say  that  she  was  out, 
and  so  let  her  have  a  chance  for  escape. 

"She's  here,"  returned  the  mother.     "I'll  call  her." 

"What  did  you  tell  him  I  was  here  for?"  said  Jennie, 
weakly. 

"What  could  I  do?"  asked  the  mother. 

Together  they  hesitated  while  the  Senator  surveyed 
the  room.  He  felt  sorry  to  think  that  such  deserving 
people  must  suffer  so;  he  intended,  in  a  vague  way,  to 
ameliorate  their  condition  if  possible. 

"Good-morning,"  the  Senator  said  to  Jennie,  when 
finally  she  came  hesitatingly  into  the  room.  "How  do 
you  do  to-day?" 

Jennie  came  forward,  extending  her  hand  and  blushing. 
She  found  herself  so  much  disturbed  by  this  visit  that 
she  could  hardly  find  tongue  to  answer  his  questions. 

38 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "I'd  come  out  and  find  where 
you  live.  This  is  a  quite  comfortable  house.  How 
many  rooms  have  you?" 

"  Five,"  said  Jennie.  "  You'll  have  to  excuse  the  looks 
this  morning.  We've  been  ironing,  and  it's  all  upset." 

"I  know,"  said  Brander,  gently.  "Don't  you  think  I 
understand,  Jennie?  You  mustn't  feel  nervous  about 
me." 

She  noticed  the  comforting,  personal  tone  he  always 
used  with  her  when  she  was  at  his  room,  and  it  helped  to 
subdue  her  flustered  senses. 

"You  mustn't  think  it  anything  if  I  come  here  occa- 
sionally. I  intend  to  come.  I  want  to  meet  your 
father." 

"Oh,"  said  Jennie,  "he's  out  to-day." 

While  they  were  talking,  however,  the  honest  wood- 
cutter was  coming  in  at  the  gate  with  his  buck  and  saw. 
Brander  saw  him,  and  at  once  recognized  him  by  a  slight 
resemblance  to  his  daughter. 

"There  he  is  now,  I  believe,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  is  he?"  said  Jennie,  looking  out. 

Gerhardt,  who  was  given  to  speculation  these  days, 
passed  by  the  window  without  looking  up.  He  put  his 
wooden  buck  down,  and,  hanging  his  saw  on  a  nail  on  the 
side  of  the  house,  came  in. 

"Mother,"  he  called,  in  German,  and,  then  not  seeing 
her,  he  came  to  the  door  of  the  front  room  and  looked  in. 

Brander  arose  and  extended  his  hand.  The  knotted 
and  weather-beaten  German  came  forward,  and  took  it 
with  a  very  questioning  expression  of  countenance. 

"This  is  my  father,  Mr.  Brander,"  said  Jennie,  all  her 
diffidence  dissolved  by  sympathy.  "This  is  the  gentle- 
man from  the  hotel,  papa,  Mr.  Brander." 

"What's  the  name?"  said  the  German,  turning  his 
head. 

"Brander,"  said  the  Senator. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  considerable  German  accent. 

39 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"Since  I  had  the  fever  I  don't  hear  good.     My  wife,  she 
spoke  to  me  of  you." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Senator,  "I  thought  I'd  come  out 
and  make  your  acquaintance.  You  have  quite  a  fam- 

ay." 

"Yes,"  said  the  father,  who  was  conscious  of  his  very 
poor  garments  and  anxious  to  get  away.  "I  have  six 
children — all  young.  She's  the  oldest  girl." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  now  came  back,  and  Gerhardt,  seeing 
his  chance,  said  hurriedly: 

"Well,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go.  I  broke  my  saw, 
and  so  I  had  to  stop  work." 

"Certainly,"  said  Brander,  graciously,  realizing  now 
why  Jennie  had  never  wanted  to  explain.  He  half 
wished  that  she  were  courageous  enough  not  to  conceal 
anything. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Gerhardt,"  he  said,  when  the  mother  was 
stiffly  seated,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you  mustn't  look 
on  me  as  a  stranger.  Hereafter  I  want  you  to  keep  me 
informed  of  how  things  are  going  with  you.  Jennie 
won't  always  do  it." 

Jennie  smiled  quietly.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  only  rubbed  her 
hands. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  humbly  grateful. 

They  talked  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  the  Senator 
rose. 

"Tell  your  husband,"  he  said,  "to  come  and  see  me 
next  Monday  at  my  office  in  the  hotel.  I  want  to  do 
something  for  him." 

"Thank  you,"  faltered  Mrs.  Gerhardt. 

"I'll  not  stay  any  longer  now,"  he  added.  "Don't 
forget  to  have  him  come." 

"Oh,  he'll  come,"  she  returned. 

Adjusting  a  glove  on  one  hand,  he  extended  the  other 
to  Jennie. 

"Here  is  your  finest  treasure,  Mrs.  Gerhardt,"  he  said. 
"I  think  I'll  take  her.  " 

40 


JENNJE    GERHARD! 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  her  mother,  "whether  I 
could  spare  her  or  not." 

"Well,"  said  the  Senator,  going  toward  the  door,  and 
giving  Mrs.  Gerhardt  his  hand,  "good-morning." 

He  nodded  and  walked  out,  while  a  half-dozen  neigh- 
bors, who  had  observed  his  entrance,  peeked  from  be- 
hind curtains  and  drawn  blinds  at  the  astonishing  sight. 

"Who  can  that  be,  anyhow?"  was  the  general  query. 

"See  what  he  gave  me,"  said  the  innocent  mother  to 
her  daughter  the  moment  he  had  closed  the  door. 

It  was  a  ten-dollar  bill.  He  had  placed  it  softly  in  her 
hand  as  he  said  good-by. 


CHAPTER  V 

HAVING  been  led  by  circumstances  into  an  attitude 
of  obligation  toward  the  Senator,  it  was  not  un- 
natural that  Jennie  should  become  imbued  with  a  most 
generous  spirit  of  appreciation  for  everything  he  had 
done  and  now  continued  to  do.  The  Senator  gave  her 
father  a  letter  to  a  local  mill  owner,  who  saw  that  he 
received  something  to  do.  It  was  not  much,  to  be  sure, 
a  mere  job  as  night-watchman,  but  it  helped,  and  old 
Gerhardt's  gratitude  was  extravagant.  Never  was  there 
such  a  great,  such  a  good  man! 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Gerhardt  overlooked.  Once  Brander 
sent  her  a  dress,  and  at  another  time  a  shawl.  All  these 
benefactions  were  made  in  a  spirit  of  mingled  charity 
and  self-gratification,  but  to  Mrs.  Gerhardt  they  glowed 
with  but  one  motive.  Senator  Brander  was  good-hearted. 

As  for  Jennie,  he  drew  nearer  to  her  in  every  possible 
way,  so  that  at  last  she  came  to  see  him  in  a  light  which 
would  require  considerable  analysis  to  make  clear.  This 
fresh,  young  soul,  however,  had  too  much  innocence  and 
buoyancy  to  consider  for  a  moment  the  world's  point  of 
view.  Since  that  one  notable  and  halcyon  visit  upon 
which  he  had  robbed  her  c£  her  original  shyness,  and 
implanted  a  tender  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  they  had  lived  in 
a  different  atmosphere.  Jennie  was  his  companion  now, 
and  as  he  more  and  more  unbended,  and  even  joyously 
flung  aside  the  habiliments  of  his  dignity,  her  perception 
of  him  grew  clearer.  They  laughed  and  chatted  in  a 
natural  way,  and  he  keenly  enjoyed  this  new  entrance 
into  the  radiant  world  of  youthful  happiness. 

42 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

One  thing  that  disturbed  him,  however,  was  the  occa- 
sional thought,  which  he  could  not  repress,  that  he  was 
not  doing  right.  Other  people  must  soon  discover  that 
he  was  not  confining  himself  strictly  to  conventional 
relations  with  this  washer- woman's  daughter.  He 
suspected  that  the  housekeeper  was  not  without  knowl- 
edge that  Jennie  almost  invariably  lingered  from  a 
quarter  to  three-quarters  of  an  hour  whenever  she  came 
for  or  returned  his  laundry.  He  knew  that  it  might 
come  to  the  ears  of  the  hotel  clerks,  and  so,  in  a  general 
way,  get  about  town  and  work  serious  injury,  but  the 
reflection  did  not  cause  him  to  modify  his  conduct. 
Sometimes  he  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  he 
was  not  doing  her  any  actual  harm,  and  at  other  times 
he  would  argue  that  he  could  not  put  this  one  delightful 
tenderness  out  of  his  life.  Did  he  not  wish  honestly  to 
do  her  much  good  ? 

He  thought  of  these  things  occasionally,  and  decided 
that  he  could  not  stop.  The  self-approval  which  such  a 
resolution  might  bring  him  was  hardly  worth  the  inevi- 
table pain  of  the  abnegation.  He  had  not  so  very  many 
more  years  to  live.  Why  die  unsatisfied? 

One  evening  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  strained 
her  to  his  breast.  Another  time  he  drew  her  to  his  knee, 
and  told  her  of  his  life  at  Washington.  Always  now  he 
had  a  caress  and  a  kiss  for  her,  but  it  was  still  in  a  tenta- 
tive, uncertain  way.  He  did  not  want  to  reach  for  her 
soul  too  deeply. 

Jennie  enjoyed  it  all  innocently.  Elements  of  fancy 
and  novelty  entered  into  her  life.  She  was  an  unsophis- 
ticated creature,  emotional,  totally  inexperienced  in  the 
matter  of  the  affections,  and  yet  mature  enough  mentally 
to  enjoy  the  attentions  of  this  great  man  who  had  thus 
bowed  from  his  high  position  to  make  friends  with 
her. 

One  evening  she  pushed  his  hair  back  from  his  fore- 
head as  she  stood  by  his  chair,  and,  finding  nothing  else 

43 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

to  do,  took  out  his  watch.  The  great  man  thrilled  as  he 
looked  at  her  pretty  innocence. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  watch,  too?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  would,"  said  Jennie,  with  a  deep 
breath. 

The  next  day  he  stopped  as  he  was  passing  a  jewelry 
store  and  bought  one.  It  was  gold,  and  had  pretty 
ornamented  hands. 

"Jennie,"  he  said,  when  she  came  the  next  time,  "I 
want  to  show  you  something.  See  what  time  it  is  by  my 
watch." 

Jennie  drew  out  the  watch  from  his  waistcoat  pocket 
and  started  in  surprise. 

"This  isn't  your  watch!"  she  exclaimed,  her  face  full  of 
innocent  wonder. 

"No,"  he  said,  delighted  with  his  little  deception. 
"It's  yours." 

"Mine!"  exclaimed  Jennie.  "Mine!  Oh,  isn't  it 
lovely!" 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  said. 

Her  delight  touched  and  pleased  him  immensely. 
Her  face  shone  with  light  and  her  eyes  fairly  danced. 

"That's  yours,"  he  said.  " See  that  you  wear  it  now, 
and  don't  lose  it." 

"You're  so  good!"  she  exclaimed. 

"  No,"  he  said,  but  he  held  her  at  arm's  length  by  the 
waist,  to  make  up  his  mind  what  his  reward  should  be. 
Slowly  he  drew  her  toward  him  until,  when  very  close, 
she  put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  laid  her  cheek  in 
gratitude  against  his  own.  This  was  the  quintessence  of 
pleasure  for  him.  He  felt  as  he  had  been  longing  to  feel 
for  years. 

The  progress  of  his  idyl  suffered  a  check  when  the 
great  senatorial  fight  came  on  in  the  Legislature.  At- 
tacked by  a  combination  of  rivals,  Brander  was  given  the 
fight  of  his  life.  To  his  amazement  he  discovered  that  a 
s;reat  railroad  corporation,  which  had  always  been 

44 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

friendly,  was  secretly  throwing  its  strength  in  behalf  of  an 
already  too  powerful  candidate.  Shocked  by  this  de- 
fection, he  was  thrown  alternately  into  the  deepest 
gloom  and  into  paroxysms  of  wrath.  These  slings  of 
fortune,  however  lightly  he  pretended  to  receive  them, 
never  failed  to  lacerate  him.  It  had  been  long  since  he 
had  suffered  a  defeat — too  long. 

During  this  period  Jennie  received  her  earliest  lesson 
in  the  vagaries  of  men.  For  two  weeks  she  did  not  even 
see  him,  and  one  evening,  after  an  extremely  comfortless 
conference  with  his  leader,  he  met  her  with  the  most 
chilling  formality.  When  she  knocked  at  his  door  he 
only  troubled  to  open  it  a  foot,  exclaiming  almost  harshly : 
"I  can't  bother  about  the  clothes  to-night.  Come  to- 
morrow." 

Jennie  retreated,  shocked  and  surprised  by  this  recep- 
tion. She  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  it.  He  was 
restored  on  the  instant  to  his  far-off,  mighty  throne,  and 
left  to  rule  in  peace.  Why  should  he  not  withdraw  the 
light  of  his  countenance  if  it  pleased  him.  But  why — 

A  day  or  two  later  he  repented  mildly,  but  had  no 
time  to  readjust  matters.  His  washing  was  taken  and 
delivered  with  considerable  formality,  and  he  went  on 
toiling  forgetfully,  until  at  last  he  was  miserably  defeated 
by  two  votes.  Astounded  by  this  result,  he  lapsed  into 
gloomy  dejection  of  soul.  What  was  he  to  do  now? 

Into  this  atmosphere  came  Jennie,  bringing  with  her 
the  lightness  and  comfort  of  her  own  hopeful  disposition. 
Nagged  to  desperation  by  his  thoughts,  Brander  first 
talked  to  her  to  amuse  himself ;  but  soon  his  distress  im- 
perceptibly took  flight ;  he  found  himself  actually  smiling. 

"Ah,  Jennie,"  he  said,  speaking  to  her  as  he  might 
have  done  to  a  child,  "youth  is  on  your  side.  You 
possess  the  most  valuable  thing  in  life." 

"Do  I?" 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  realize  it.  You  never  will  until 
it  is  too  late." 

45 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"I  love  that  girl,"  he  thought  to  himself  that  night. 
**  I  wish  I  could  have  her  with  me  always." 

But  fortune  had  another  fling  for  him  to  endure.  It 
got  about  the  hotel  that  Jennie  was,  to  use  the  mildest 
expression,  conducting  herself  strangely.  A  girl  who 
carries  washing  must  expect  criticism  if  anything  not 
befitting  her  station  is  observed  in  her  apparel.  Jennie 
was  seen  wearing  the  gold  watch.  Her  mother  was  in- 
formed by  the  housekeeper  of  the  state  of  things. 

"I  thought  I'd  speak  to  you  about  it,"  she  said. 
"People  are  talking.  You'd  better  not  let  your  daugh- 
ter go  to  his  room  for  the  laundry." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  too  astonished  and  hurt  for  utter- 
ance. Jennie  had  told  her  nothing,  but  even  now  she 
did  not  believe  there  was  anything  to  tell.  The  watch 
had  been  both  approved  of  and  admired  by  her.  She 
had  not  thought  that  it  was  endangering  her  daughter's 
reputation. 

Going  home  she  worried  almost  incessantly,  and 
talked  with  Jennie  about  it.  The  latter  did  not  admit 
the  implication  that  things  had  gone  too  far.  In  fact, 
she  did  not  look  at  it  in  that  light.  She  did  not  own,  it  is 
true,  what  really  had  happened  while  she  was  visiting 
the  Senator. 

"It's  so  terrible  that  people  should  begin  to  talk!" 
said  her  mother.  "Did  you  really  stay  so  long  in  the 
room?" 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Jennie,  compelled  by  her 
conscience  to  admit  at  least  part  of  the  truth.  "  Perhaps 
I  did." 

11  He  has  never  said  anything  out  of  the  way  to  you, 
has  he?" 

"No,"  answered  her  daughter,  who  did  not  attach  any 
suspicion  of  evil  to  what  had  passed  between  them. 

If  the  mother  had  only  gone  a  little  bit  further  she 
might  have  learned  more,  but  she  was  only  too  glad,  for 
her  own  peace  of  mind,  to  hush  the  matter  up.  People 

46 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

were  slandering  a  good  man,  that  she  knew.  Jennie 
had  been  the  least  bit  indiscreet.  People  were  always 
so  ready  to  talk.  How  could  the  poor  girl,  amid  such 
unfortunate  circumstances,  do  otherwise  than  she  did. 
It  made  her  cry  to  think  of  it. 

The  result  of  it  all  was  that  she  decided  to  get  the  wash- 
ing herself. 

She  came  to  his  door  the  next  Monday  after  this  de- 
cision. Brander,  who  was  expecting  Jennie,  was  both 
surprised  and  disappointed. 

"  Why,"  he  said  to  her,  "  what  has  become  of  Jennie  ?" 

Having  hoped  that  he  would  not  notice,  or,  at  least, 
not  comment  upon  the  change,  Mrs.  Gerhardt  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  She  looked  up  at  him  weakly  in  her 
innocent,  motherly  way,  and  said,  "She  couldn't  come 
to-night." 

"Not  ill,  is  she?"  he  inquired. 

"No." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  he  said  resignedly.  "How 
have  you  been?" 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  answered  his  kindly  inquiries  and  de- 
parted. After  she  had  gone  he  got  to  thinking  the 
matter  over,  and  wondered  what  could  have  happened. 
It  seemed  rather  odd  that  he  should  be  wondering 
over  it. 

On  Saturday,  however,  when  she  returned  the  clothes 
he  felt  that  there  must  be  something  wrong. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Gerhardt?"  he  inquired. 
"Has  anything  happened  to  your  daughter?" 

"No,  sir,"  she  returned,  too  troubled  to  wish  to  de- 
ceive him. 

"  Isn't  she  coming  for  the  laundry  any  more  ?" 

"I — I — "  ventured  the  mother,  stammering  in  her 
perturbation ;  "  she — they  have  been  talking  about  her," 
she  at  last  forced  herself  to  say. 

"  Who  has  been  talking  ?"  he  asked  gravely. 

"The  people  here  in  the  hotel." 

47 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Who,  what  people?"  he  interrupted,  a  touch  of 
annoyance  showing  in  his  voice. 

"The  housekeeper." 

"The  housekeeper,  eh!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  has 
she  got  to  say?" 

The  mother  related  to  him  her  experience. 

"And  she  told  you  that,  did  she?"  he  remarked  in 
wrath.  "She  ventures  to  trouble  herself  about  my 
affairs,  does  she  ?  I  wonder  people  can't  mind  their  own 
business  without  interfering  with  mine.  Your  daughter, 
Mrs.  Gerhardt,  is  perfectly  safe  with  me.  I  have  no 
intention  of  doing  her  an  injury.  It's  a  shame,"  he 
added  indignantly,  "that  a  girl  can't  come  to  my  room 
in  this  hotel  without  having  her  motive  questioned.  I'll 
look  into  this  matter." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  I  have  anything  to  do 
with  it,"  said  the  mother  apologetically.  "I  know  you 
like  Jennie  and  wouldn't  injure  her.  You've  done  so 
much  for  her  and  all  of  us,  Mr.  Brander,  I  feel  ashamed 
to  keep  her  away." 

"That's  all  right,  Mrs.  Gerhardt,"  he  said  quietly. 
"You  did  perfectly  right.  I  don't  blame  you  in  the 
least.  It  is  the  lying  accusation  passed  about  in  this 
hotel  that  I  object  to.  We'll  see  about  that." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  stood  there,  pale  with  excitement.  She 
was  afraid  she  had  deeply  offended  this  man  who  had 
done  so  much  for  them.  If  she  could  only  say  some- 
thing, she  thought,  that  would  clear  this  matter  up  and 
make  him  feel  that  she  was  no  tattler.  Scandal  was  dis- 
tressing to  her. 

"I  thought  I  was  doing  everything  for  the  best,"  she 
said  at  last. 

"  So  you  were,"  he  replied.  "  I  like  Jennie  very  much. 
I  have  always  enjoyed  her  coming  here.  It  is  my  in- 
tention to  do  well  by  her,  but  perhaps  it  will  be  better  to 
keep  her  away,  at  least  for  the  present. 

Again  that  evening  the  Senator  sat  in  his  easy-chair 

48 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

and  brooded  over  this  new  development.  Jennie  was 
really  much  more  precious  to  him  than  he  had  thought. 
Now  that  he  had  no  hope  of  seeing  her  there  any  more,  he 
began  to  realize  how  much  these  little  visits  of  hers  had 
meant.  He  thought  the  matter  over  very  carefully, 
realized  instantly  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  so  far 
as  the  hotel  gossip  was  concerned,  and  concluded  that  he 
had  really  placed  the  girl  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  position. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  end  this  little  affair,"  he 
thought.  "It  isn't  a  wise  thing  to  pursue." 

On  the  strength  of  this  conclusion  he  went  to  Wash- 
ington and  finished  his  term.  Then  he  returned  to 
Columbus  to  await  the  friendly  recognition  from  the 
President  which  was  to  send  him  upon  some  ministry 
abroad.  Jennie  had  not  been  forgotten  in  the  least. 
The  longer  he  stayed  away  the  more  eager  he  was  to  get 
back.  When  he  was  again  permanently  settled  in  his 
old  quarters  he  took  up  his  cane  one  morning  and 
strolled  out  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage.  Arriving 
there,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  go  in,  and  knocking  at  the 
door,  he  was  greeted  by  Mrs.  Gerhardt  and  her  daughter 
with  astonished  and  diffident  smiles.  He  explained 
vaguely  that  he  had  been  away,  and  mentioned  his 
laundry  as  if  that  were  the  object  of  his  visit.  Then, 
when  chance  gave  him  a  few  moments  with  Jennie  alone, 
he  plunged  in  boldly. 

"How  would  you  like  to  take  a  drive  with  me  to- 
morrow evening  ?"  he  asked. 

"I'd  like  it,"  said  Jennie,  to  whom  the  proposition 
was  a  glorious  novelty. 

He  smiled  and  patted  her  cheek,  foolishly  happy  to  see 
her  again.  Every  day  seemed  to  add  to  her  beauty. 
Graced  with  her  clean  white  apron,  her  shapely  head 
crowned  by  the  glory  of  her  simply  plaited  hair,  she  was  a 
pleasing  sight  for  any  man  to  look  upon. 

He  waited  until  Mrs.  Gerhardt  returned,  and  then, 
having  accomplished  the  purpose  of  his  visit,  he  arose. 

49 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"  I'm  going  to  take  your  daughter  out  riding  to-morrow 
evening,"  he  explained.  "I  want  to  talk  to  her  about 
her  future." 

"Won't  that  be  nice?"  said  the  mother.  She  saw 
nothing  incongruous  in  the  proposal.  They  parted  with 
smiles  and  much  handshaking. 

"That  man  has  the  best  heart,"  commented  Mrs. 
Gerhardt.  "Doesn't  he  always  speak  so  nicely  of  you? 
He  may  help  you  to  an  education.  You  ought  to  be 
proud." 

"I  am,"  said  Jennie  frankly. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  we  had  better  tell  your  father 
or  not,"  concluded  Mrs.  Gerhardt.  "He  doesn't  like 
for  you  to  be  out  evenings." 

Finally  they  decided  not  to  tell  him.  He  might  not 
understand. 

Jennie  was  ready  when  he  called.  He  could  see  by  the 
weak-flamed,  unpretentious  parlor-lamp  that  she  was 
dressed  for  him,  and  that  the  occasion  had  called  out  the 
best  she  had.  A  pale  lavender  gingham,  starched  and 
ironed,  until  it  was  a  model  of  laundering,  set  off  her 
pretty  figure  to  perfection.  There  were  little  lace-edged 
cuffs  and  a  rather  high  collar  attached  to  it.  She  had  no 
gloves,  nor  any  jewelry,  nor  yet  a  jacket  good  enough  to 
wear,  but  her  hair  was  done  up  in  such  a  dainty  way  that 
it  set  off  her  well-shaped  head  better  than  any  hat,  and 
the  few  ringlets  that  could  escape  crowned  her  as  with  a 
halo.  When  Brander  suggested  that  she  should  wear  a 
jacket  she  hesitated  a  moment;  then  she  went  in  and 
borrowed  her  mother's  cape,  a  plain  gray  woolen  one. 
Brander  realized  now  that  she  had  no  jacket,  and  suffered 
keenly  to  think  that  she  had  contemplated  going  without 
one. 

"She  would  have  endured  the  raw  night  air,"  he 
thought,  "and  said  nothing  of  it." 

He  looked  at  her  and  shook  his  head  reflectively. 
Then  they  started,  and  he  quickly  forgot  everything  but 

50 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

the  great  fact  that  she  was  at  his  side.  She  talked  with 
freedom  and  with  a  gentle  girlish  enthusiasm  that  he 
found  irresistibly  charming. 

"Why,  Jennie,"  he  said,  when  she  had  called  upon  him 
to  notice  how  soft  the  trees  looked,  where  >  outlined  dimly 
against  the  new  rising  moon,  they  were  touched  with  its 
yellow  light,  "you're  a  great  one.  I  believe  you  would 
write  poetry  if  you  were  schooled  a  little." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  ?"  she  asked  innocently. 

"Do  I  suppose,  little  girl?"  he  said,  taking  her  hand. 
"Do  I  suppose?  Why,  I  know.  You're  the  dearest 
little  day-dreamer  in  the  world.  Of  course  you  could 
write  poetry.  You  live  it.  You  are  poetry,  my  dear. 
Don't  you  worry  about  writing  any." 

This  eulogy  touched  her  as  nothing  else  possibly  could 
have  done.  He  was  always  saying  such  nice  things.  No 
one  ever  seemed  to  like  or  to  appreciate  her  half  as  much 
as  he  did.  And  how  good  he  was !  Everybody  said  that. 
Her  own  father. 

They  rode  still  farther,  until  suddenly  remembering, 
he  said:  "I  wonder  what  time  it  is.  Perhaps  we  had 
better  be  turning  back.  Have  you  your  watch?" 

Jennie  started,  for  this  watch  had  been  the  one  thing 
of  which  she  had  hoped  he  would  not  speak.  Ever  since 
he  had  returned  it  had  been  on  her  mind. 

In  his  absence  the  family  finances  had  become  so 
strained  that  she  had  been  compelled  to  pawn  it.  Mar- 
tha had  got  to  that  place  in  the  matter  of  apparel  where 
she  could  no  longer  go  to  school  unless  something  new 
were  provided  for  her.  And  so,  after  much  discussion, 
it  was  decided  that  the  watch  must  go. 

Bass  took  it,  and  after  much  argument  with  the  local 
pawn  broker,  he  had  been  able  to  bring  home  ten  dollars. 
Mrs.  Gerhardt  expended  the  money  upon  her  children, 
and  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Martha  looked  very  much 
better.  Naturally,  Jennie  was  glad. 

Now,  however,  when  the  Senator  spoke  of  it,  her  hour 
5  Si 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

of  retribution  seemed  at  hand.     She  actually  trembled, 
and  he  noticed  her  discomfiture. 

"Why,  Jennie,"  he  said  gently,  "what  made  you  start 
like  that?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered. 

"Haven't  you  your  watch?" 

She  paused,  for  it  seemed  impossible  to  tell  a  deliberate 
falsehood.  There  was  a  strained  silence;  then  she  said, 
with  a  voice  that  had  too  much  of  a  sob  in  it  for  him  not 
to  suspect  the  truth,  "No,  sir."  He  persisted,  and  she 
confessed  everything. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "dearest,  don't  feel  badly  about  it. 
There  never  was  such  another  girl.  I'll  get  your  watch 
for  you.  Hereafter  when  you  need  anything  I  want  you 
to  come  to  me.  Do  you  hear?  I  want  you  to  promise 
me  that.  If  I'm  not  here,  I  want  you  to  write  me.  I'll 
always  be  in  touch  with  you  from  now  on.  You  will 
have  my  address.  Just  let  me  know,  and  I'll  help  you. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jennie. 

"You'll  promise  to  do  that  now,  will  you?' 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

For  a  moment  neither  of  them  spoke. 

"Jennie,"  he  said  at  last,  the  spring-like  quality  of  the 
night  moving  him  to  a  burst  of  feeling,  "  I've  about  de- 
cided that  I  can't  do  without  you.  Do  you  think  you 
could  make  up  your  mind  to  live  with  me  from  now  on  ?" 

Jennie  looked  away,  not  clearly  understanding  his 
words  as  he  meant  them. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  vaguely. 

"  Well,  you  think  about  it,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  I'm 
serious.  Would  you  be  willing  to  marry  me,  and  let  me 
put  you  away  in  a  seminary  for  a  few  years?" 

"Go  away  to  school?" 

"  Yes,  after  you  marry  me." 

"  I  guess  so,"  she  replied.  Her  mother  came  into  her 
mind.  Maybe  she  could  help  the  family. 

52 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

He  looked  around  at  her,  and  tried  to  make  out  the 
expression  on  her  face.  It  was  not  dark.  The  moon 
was  now  above  the  trees  in  the  east,  and  already  the  vast 
host  of  stars  were  paling  before  it. 

" Don't  you  care  for  me  at  all,  Jennie?"  he  asked. 

"Yes!" 

"  You  never  come  for  my  laundry  any  more,  though," 
he  returned  pathetically.  It  touched  her  to  hear  him 
say  this. 

"  I  didn't  do  that,"  she  answered.  "  I  couldn't  help  it; 
Mother  thought  it  was  best." 

"So  it  was,"  he  assented.  "Don't  feel  badly.  I  was 
only  joking  with  you.  You'd  be  glad  to  come  if  you 
could,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  would,"  she  answered  frankly. 

He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  so  feelingly  that  all  his 
kindly  words  seemed  doubly  emphasized  to  her.  Reach- 
ing up  impulsively,  she  put  her  arms  about  him.  "  You're 
so  good  to  me,"  she  said  with  the  loving  tone  of  a  daugh- 
ter. 

"You're  my  girl,  Jennie,"  he  said  with  deep  feeling. 
"  I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you." 


CHAPTER  VI 

HPHE  father  of  this  unfortunate  family,  William  Ger- 
1  hardt,  was  a  man  of  considerable  interest  on  his 
personal  side.  Born  in  the  kingdom  of  Saxony,  he  had 
had  character  enough  to  oppose  the  army  conscription 
iniquity,  and  to  flee,  in  his  eighteenth  year,  to  P  .ris. 
From  there  he  had  set  forth  for  America,  the  la  d  of 
promise. 

Arrived  in  this  country,  he  had  made  his  way,  jy  slow 
stages,  from  New  York  to  Philadelphia,  and  the  ce  west- 
ward, working  for  a  time  in  the  various  glass  f  .ctories  in 
Pennsylvania.  In  one  romantic  village  of  thi*  new  world 
he  had  found  his  heart's  ideal.  With  her,  a  simple 
American  girl  of  German  extraction,  he  had  removed  to 
Youngstown,  and  thence  to  Columbus,  each  time  follow- 
ing a  glass  manufacturer  by  the  name  of  Hammond, 
whose  business  prospered  and  waned  by  turns. 

Gerhardt  was  an  honest  man,  and  he  liked  to  think  that 
others  appreciated  his  integrity.  "William,"  his  em- 
ployer used  to  say  to  him,  "  I  want  you  because  I  can 
trust  you,  "and  this,  to  him,  was  more  than  silver  and  gold. 

This  honesty,  like  his  religious  convictions,  was  wholly 
due  to  inheritance.  He  had  never  reasoned  about  it. 
Father  and  grandfather  before  him  were  sturdy  German 
artisans,  who  had  never  cheated  anybody  out  of  a  dollar, 
and  this  honesty  of  intention  came  into  his  veins  un- 
diminished. 

His  Lutheran  proclivities  had  been  strengthened  by 
years  of  church-going  and  the  religious  observances  of 
home  life,  In  his  father's  cottage  the  influence  of  the 

54 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Lutheran  minister  had  been  all-powerful;  he  had  in- 
herited the  feeling  that  the  Lutheran  Church  was  a  per- 
fect institution,  and  that  its  teachings  were  of  all-im- 
portance when  it  came  to  the  issue  of  the  future  life.  His 
wife,  nominally  of  the  Mennonite  faith,  was  quite  willing 
to  accept  her  husband's  creed.  And  so  his  household 
became  a  God-fearing  one;  wherever  they  went  their 
first  public  step  was  to  ally  themselves  with  the  local 
Lutheran  church,  and  the  minister  was  always  a  welcome 
guest  in  the  Gerhardt  home. 

Pastor  Wundt,  the  shepherd  of  the  Columbus  church, 
was  a  sincere  and  ardent  Christian,  but  his  bigotry  and 
hard-and-fast  orthodoxy  made  him  intolerant.  He 
considered  that  the  members  of  his  flock  were  jeopar- 
dizing their  eternal  salvation  if  they  danced,  played  cards, 
or  went  to  theaters,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  declare 
vociferously  that  hell  was  yawning  for  those  who  dis- 
obeyed his  injunctions.  Drinking,  even  temperately, 
was  a  sin.  Smoking — well,  he  smoked  himself.  Right 
conduct  in  marriage,  however,  and  innocence  before 
that  state  were  absolute  essentials  of  Christian  living. 
Let  no  one  talk  of  salvation,  he  had  said,  for  a  daughter 
who  had  failed  to  keep  her  chastity  unstained,  or  for  the 
parents  who,  by  negligence,  had  permitted  her  to  fall. 
Hell  was  yawning  for  all  such.  You  must  walk  the 
straight  and  narrow  way  if  you  would  escape  eternal 
punishment,  and  a  just  God  was  angry  with  sinners 
every  day. 

Gerhardt  and  his  wife,  and  also  Jennie,  accepted  the 
doctrines  of  their  Church  as  expounded  by  Mr.  Wundt 
without  reserve.  With  Jennie,  however,  the  assent  was 
little  more  than  nominal.  Religion  had  as  yet  no 
striking  hold  upon  her.  It  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  know 
that  there  was  a  heaven,  a  fearsome  one  to  realize  that 
there  was  a  hell.  Young  girls  and  boys  ought  to  be 
good  and  obey  their  parents.  Otherwise  the  whole 
religious  problem  was  badly  jumbled  in  her  mind. 

55 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Gerhardt  was  convinced  that  everything  spoken  from 
the  pulpit  of  his  church  was  literally  true.  Death  and 
the  future  life  were  realities  to  him. 

Now  that  the  years  were  slipping  away  and  the  prob- 
lem of  the  world  was  becoming  more  and  more  inex- 
plicable, he  clung  with  pathetic  anxiety  to  the  doctrines 
which  contained  a  solution.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  be  so 
honest  and  upright  that  the  Lord  might  have  no  excuse 
for  ruling  him  out.  He  trembled  not  only  for  himself, 
but  for  his  wife  and  children.  Would  he  not  some  day 
be  held  responsible  for  them?  Would  not  his  own 
laxity  and  lack  of  system  in  inculcating  the  laws  of 
eternal  life  to  them  end  in  his  and  their  damnation  ?  He 
pictured  to  himself  the  torments  of  hell,  and  wondered 
how  it  would  be  with  him  and  his  in  the  final  hour. 

Naturally,  such  a  deep  religious  feeling  made  him  stern 
with  his  children.  He  was  prone  to  scan  with  a  narrow 
eye  the  pleasures  and  foibles  of  youthful  desire.  Jennie 
was  never  to  have  a  lover  if  her  father  had  any  voice  in 
the  matter.  Any  flirtation  with  the  youths  she  might 
meet  upon  the  streets  of  Columbus  could  have  no  con- 
tinuation in  her  home.  Gerhardt  forgot  that  he  was 
once  young  himself,  and  looked  only  to  the  welfare  of  her 
spirit.  So  the  Senator  was  a  novel  factor  in  her  life. 

When  he  first  began  to  be  a  part  of  their  family  affairs 
the  conventional  standards  of  Father  Gerhardt  proved 
untrustworthy.  He  had  no  means  of  judging  such  a 
character.  This  was  no  ordinary  person  coquetting 
with  his  pretty  daughter.  The  manner  in  which  the 
Senator  entered  the  family  life  was  so  original  and  so 
plausible  that  he  became  an  active  part  before  any  one 
thought  anything  about  it.  Gerhardt  himself  was  de- 
ceived, and,  expecting  nothing  but  honor  and  profit  to 
flow  to  the  family  from  such  a  source,  accepted  the  inter- 
est and  the  service,  and  plodded  peacefully  on.  His  wife 
did  not  tell  him  of  the  many  presents  which  had  come 
before  and  since  the  wonderful  Christmas. 

56 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

But  one  morning  as  Gerhardt  was  coming  home  from 
his  night  work  a  neighbor  named  Otto  Weaver  accosted 
him. 

"Gerhardt,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  speak  a  word  with 
you.  As  a  friend  of  yours,  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I 
hear.  The  neighbors,  you  know,  they  talk  now  about  the 
man  who  comes  to  see  your  daughter." 

"My  daughter?"  said  Gerhardt,  more  puzzled  and 
pained  by  this  abrupt  attack  than  mere  words  could 
indicate.  "Whom  do  you  mean?  I  don't  know  of  any 
one  who  comes  to  see  my  daugther." 

"No?"  inquired  Weaver,  nearly  as  much  astonished 
as  the  recipient  of  his  confidences.  "The  middle-aged 
man,  with  gray  hair.  He  carries  a  cane  sometimes. 
You  don't  know  him?" 

Gerhardt  racked  his  memory  with  a  puzzled  face. 

"They  say  he  was  a  senator  once,"  went  on  Weaver, 
doubtful  of  what  he  had  got  into;  "  I  don't  know." 

"Ah,"  returned  Gerhardt,  measurably  relieved.  "Sena- 
tor Brander.  Yes.  He  has  come  sometimes — so.  Well, 
what  of  it?" 

"It  is  nothing,"  returned  the  neighbor,  "only  they 
talk.  He  is  no  longer  a  young  man,  you  know.  Your 
daughter,  she  goes  out  with  him  now  a  few  times.  These 
people,  they  see  that,  and  now  they  talk  about  her.  I 
thought  you  might  want  to  know." 

Gerhardt  was  shocked  to  the  depths  of  his  being  by 
these  terrible  words.  People  must  have  a  reason  for 
saying  such  things.  Jennie  and  her  mother  were  seri- 
ously at  fault.  Still  he  did  not  hesitate  to  defend  his 
daughter. 

"He  is  a  friend  of  the  family,"  he  said  confusedly. 
"People  should  not  talk  until  they  know.  My  daughter 
has  done  nothing." 

"That  is  so.  It  is  nothing,"  continued  Weaver. 
"People  talk  before  they  have  any  grounds.  You  and  I 
are  old  friends.  I  thought  you  might  want  to  know." 

57 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

Gerhardt  stood  there  motionless  another  minute  or  sot 
his  jaw  fallen  and  a  strange  helplessness  upon  him. 
The  world  was  such  a  grim  thing  to  have  antagonistic 
to  you.  Its  opinions  and  good  favor  were  so  essential. 
How  hard  he  had  tried  to  live  up  to  its  rules!  Why 
should  it  not  be  satisfied  and  let  him  alone  ? 

"I  am  glad  you  told  me,"  he  murmured  as  he  started 
homeward.  "  I  will  see  about  it.  Good-by." 

Gerhardt  took  the  first  opportunity  to  question  his 
wife. 

"What  is  this  about  Senator  Brander  coming  out  to 
call  on  Jennie?"  he  asked  in  German.  "The  neighbors 
are  talking  about  it." 

"Why,  nothing,"  answered  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  in  the 
same  language.  She  was  decidedly  taken  aback  at  his 
question.  "He  did  call  two  or  three  times." 

"You  didn't  tell  me  that,"  he  returned,  a  sense  of  her 
frailty  in  tolerating  and  shielding  such  weakness  in  one 
of  their  children  irritating  him. 

"No,"  she  replied,  absolutely  nonplussed.  "He  has 
only  been  here  two  or  three  times." 

"Two  or  three  times!"  exclaimed  Gerhardt,  the  Ger- 
man tendency  to  talk  loud  coming  upon  him.  "Two  or 
three  times!  The  whole  neighborhood  talks  about  it. 
What  is  this,  then?" 

"He  only  called  two  or  three  times,"  Mrs.  Gerhardt 
repeated  weakly. 

"Weaver  comes  to  me  on  the  street,"  continued  Ger- 
hardt, "and  tells  me  that  my  neighbors  are  talking  of  the 
man  my  daughter  is  going  with.  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  it.  There  I  stood.  I  didn't  know  what  to  say. 
What  kind  of  a  way  is  that  ?  What  must  the  man  think 
of  me?" 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter,"  declared  the  mother, 
using  an  effective  German  idiom.  "Jennie  has  gone 
walking  with  him  once  or  twice.  He  has  called  here  at 
the  house.  What  is  there  now  in  that  for  the  people 

S* 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

to  talk  about?  Can't  th^  girl  have  any  pleasure  at 
all?" 

"But  he  is  an  old  man,"  returned  Gerhardt,  voicing 
the  words  of  Weaver.  "He  is  a  public  citizen.  What 
should  he  want  to  call  on  a  girl  like  Jennie  for?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  defensively. 
"He  comes  here  to  the  house.  I  don't  know  anything 
but  good  about  the  man.  Can  I  tell  him  not  to  come?" 

Gerhardt  paused  at  this.  All  that  he  knew  of  the 
Senator  was  excellent.  What  was  there  now  that  was 
so  terrible  about  it  ? 

"The  neighbors  are  so  ready  to  talk.  They  haven't 
got  anything  else  to  talk  about  now,  so  they  talk  about 
Jennie.  You  know  whether  she  is  a  good  girl  or  not. 
Why  should  they  say  such  things?"  and  tears  came  into 
the  soft  little  mother's  eyes. 

"  That  is  all  right,"  grumbled  Gerhardt,  "but  he  ought 
not  to  want  to  come  around  and  take  a  girl  of  her  age  out 
walking.  It  looks  bad,  even  if  he  don't  mean  any  harm." 

At  this  moment  Jennie  came  in.  She  had  heard  the 
talking  in  the  front  bedroom,  where  she  slept  with  one  of 
the  children,  but  had  not  suspected  its  import.  Now 
her  mother  turned  her  back  and  bent  over  the  table  where 
she  was  making  biscuit,  in  order  that  her  daughter  might 
not  see  her  red  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  inquired,  vaguely  troubled 
by  the  tense  stillness  in  the  attitude  of  both  her  parents. 

"Nothing,"  said  Gerhardt  firmly. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  made  no  sign,  but  her  very  immobility 
told  something.  Jennie  went  over  to  her  and  quickly 
discovered  that  she  had  been  weeping. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  repeated  wonderingly, 
gazing  at  her  father. 

Gerhardt  only  stood  there,  his  daughter's  innocence 
dominating  his  terror  of  evil. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  urged  softly  of  her  mother. 

"  Oh,it's  the  neighbors, "returned  the  mother  brokenly. 

59 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"They're  always  ready  to  talk  about  something  they 
don't  know  anything  about." 

"Is  it  me  again?"  inquired  Jennie,  her  face  flushing 
faintly. 

"You  see,"  observed  Gerhardt,  apparently  addressing 
the  world  in  general,  "she  knows.  Now,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  that  he  was  coming  here?  The  neighbors 
talk,  and  I  hear  nothing  about  it  until  to-day.  What 
kind  of  a  way  is  that,  anyhow?" 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Jennie,  out  of  the  purest  sympathy 
for  her  mother,  "what  difference  does  it  make  ?" 

"What  difference?"  cried  Gerhardt,  still  talking  in 
German,  although  Jennie  answered  in  English.  "Is  it 
no  difference  that  men  stop  me  on  the  street  and  speak  of 
it  ?  You  should  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  say  that.  I 
always  thought  well  of  this  man,  but  now,  since  you 
don't  tell  me  about  him,  and  the  neighbors  talk,  I  don't 
know  what  to  think.  Must  I  get  my  knowledge  of  what 
is  going  on  in  my  own  home  from  my  neighbors  ?" 

Mother  and  daughter  paused.  Jennie  had  already 
begun  to  think  that  their  error  was  serious. 

"I  didn't  keep  anything  from  you  because  it  was 
evil,"  she  said.  "Why,  he  only  took  me  out  riding 
once." 

"Yes,  but  you  didn't  tell  me  that,"  answered  her 
father. 

"You  know  you  don't  like  for  me  to  go  out  after 
dark,"  replied  Jennie.  "That's  why  I  didn't.  There 
wasn't  anything  else  to  hide  about  it." 

"He  shouldn't  want  you  to  go  out  after  dark  with 
him,"  observed  Gerhardt,  always  mindful  of  the  world 
outside.  "What  can  he  want  with  you.  Why  does  he 
come  here?  He  is  too  old,  anyhow.  I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him — such  a 
young  girl  as  you  are." 

"He  doesn't  want  to  do  anything  except  help  me," 
murmured  Jennie.  "  He  wants  to  marry  me." 

60 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Marry  you?  Ha!  Why  doesn't  he  tell  me  that!" 
exclaimed  Gerhardt.  "I  shall  look  into  this.  I  won't 
have  him  running  around  with  my  daughter,  and  the 
neighbors  talking.  Besides,  he  is  too  old.  I  shall  tell 
him  that.  He  ought  to  know  better  than  to  put  a  girl 
where  she  gets  talked  about.  It  is  better  he  should  stay 
away  altogether." 

This  threat  of  Gerhardt's,  that  he  would  tell  Brander 
to  stay  away,  seemed  simply  terrible  to  Jennie  and  to 
her  mother.  What  good  could  come  of  any  such  atti- 
tude? Why  must  they  be  degraded  before  him?  Of 
course  Brander  did  call  again,  while  Gerhardt  was  away 
at  work,  and  they  trembled  lest  the  father  should  hear  of 
it.  A  few  days  later  the  Senator  came  and  took  Jennie 
for  a  long  walk.  Neither  she  nor  her  mother  said  any- 
thing to  Gerhardt.  But  he  was  not  to  be  put  off  the 
scent  for  long. 

"Has  Jennie  been  out  again  with  that  man?"  he  in- 
quired of  Mrs.  Gerhardt  the  next  evening. 

"He  was  here  last  night,"  returned  the  mother, 
evasively. 

"  Did  she  tell  him  he  shouldn't  come  any  more  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  don't  think  so." 

"Well,  now,  I  will  see  for  myself  once  whether  this 
thing  will  be  stopped  or  not,"  said  the  determined  father. 
"  I  shall  talk  with  him.  Wait  till  he  comes  again." 

In  accordance  with  this,  he  took  occasion  to  come  up 
from  his  factory  on  three  different  evenings,  each  time 
carefully  surveying  the  house,  in  order  to  discover 
whether  any  visitor  was  being  entertained.  On  the 
fourth  evening  Brander  came,  and  inquiring  for  Jennie, 
who  was  exceedingly  nervous,  he  took  her  out  for  a  walk. 
She  was  afraid  of  her  father,  lest  some  unseemly  things 
should  happen,  but  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do. 

Gerhardt, who  was  on  his  way  to  the  house  at  the  time,, 
observed  her  departure.  That  was  enough  for  him. 
Walking  deliberately  in  upon  his  wife,  he  said : 

61 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"Where  is  Jennie?" 

"She  is  out  somewhere,"  said  her  mother. 

"Yes,  I  know  where,"  said  Gerhardt.  *'I  saw  her. 
Now  wait  till  she  comes  home.  I  will  tell  him." 

He  sat  down  calmly,  reading  a  German  paper  and  keep* 
ing  an  eye  upon  his  wife,  until,  at  last,  the  gate  clicked, 
and  the  front  door  opened.  Then  he  got  up. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  exclaimed  in  German. 

Brander,  who  had  not  suspected  that  any  trouble  of 
this  character  was  pending,  felt  irritated  and  uncom- 
fortable. Jennie  was  covered  with  confusion.  Her 
mother  was  suffering  an  agony  of  torment  in  the  kitchen. 

"Why,  I  have  been  out  for  a  walk,"  she  answered 
confusedly. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  go  out  any  more  after  dark?" 
said  Gerhardt,  utterly  ignoring  Brander. 

Jennie  colored  furiously,  unable  to  speak  a  word. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  inquired  Brander  gravely. 
"  Why  should  you  talk  to  her  like  that  ?" 

"She  should  not  go  out  after  dark,"  returned  the 
father  rudely.  "  I  have  told  her  two  or  three  times  now. 
I  don't  think  you  ought  to  come  here  any  more,  either." 

"And  why?"  asked  the  Senator,  pausing  to  consider 
and  choose  his  words.  "Isn't  this  rather  peculiar? 
What  has  your  daughter  done  ?" 

"What  has  she  done!"  exclaimed  Gerhardt,  his  excite- 
ment growing  under  the  strain  he  was  enduring,  and 
speaking  almost  unaccented  English  in  consequence. 
"She  is  running  around  the  streets  at  night  when  she 
oughtn't  to  be.  I  don't  want  my  daughter  taken  out 
after  dark  by  a  man  of  your  age.  What  do  you  want 
with  her  anyway?  She  is  only  a  child  yet." 

"Want!"  said  the  Senator,  straining  to  regain  his 
ruffled  dignity.  "I  want  to  talk  with  her,  of  course. 
She  is  old  enough  to  be  interesting  to  me.  I  want  to 
tnarry  her  if  she  will  have  me." 

"I  want  you  to  go  out  of  here  and  stay  out  of  here," 

62 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

returned  the  father,  losing  all  sense  of  logic,  and  descend- 
ing to  the  ordinary  level  of  parental  compulsion.  "I 
don't  want  you  to  come  around  my  house  any  more.  I 
have  enough  trouble  without  my  daughter  being  taken 
out  and  given  a  bad  name." 

"I  tell  you  frankly,"  said  the  Senator,  drawing  himself 
up  to  his  full  height,  "that  you  will  have  to  make  clear 
your  meaning.  I  have  done  nothing  that  I  am  ashamed 
of.  Your  daughter  has  not  come  to  any  harm  through 
me.  Now,  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean  by  conduct- 
ing yourself  in  this  manner." 

"I  mean,"  said  Gerhardt,  excitedly  repeating  himself, 
"I  mean,  I  mean  that  the  whole  neighborhood  talks 
about  how  you  come  around  here,  and  have  buggy-rides 
and  walks  with  my  daughter  when  I  am  not  here — that's 
what  I  mean.  I  mean  that  you  are  no  man  of  honorable 
intentions,  or  you  would  not  come  taking  up  with  a  little 
girl  who  is  only  old  enough  to  be  your  daughter.  People 
tell  me  well  enough  what  you  are.  Just  you  go  and  leave 
my  daughter  alone." 

"  People !"  said  the  Senator.  "Well,  I  care  nothing  for 
your  people.  I  love  your  daughter,  and  I  am  here  to  see 
her  because  I  do  love  her.  It  is  my  intention  to  marry 
her,  and  if  your  neighbors  have  anything  to  say  to  that, 
let  them  say  it.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
conduct  yourself  in  this  manner  before  you  know  what 
my  intentions  are." 

Unnerved  by  this  unexpected  and  terrible  altercation, 
Jennie  had  backed  away  to  the  door  leading  out  into  the 
dining-room,  and  her  mother,  seeing  her,  came  forward. 

"Oh,"  said  the  latter,  breathing  excitedly,  "he  came 
home  when  you  were  away.  What  shall  we  do  ?"  They 
clung  together,  as  women  do,  and  wept  silently.  The 
dispute  continued. 

"Marry,  eh,"  exclaimed  the  father.     " Is  that  it ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Senator,  "marry,  that  is  exactly  it. 
Your  daughter  is  eighteen  years  of  age  and  can  decide 

63 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

for  herself.  You  have  insulted  me  and  outraged  youl 
daughter's  feelings.  Now,  I  wish  you  to  know  that  it 
cannot  stop  here.  If  you  have  any  cause  to  say  any- 
thing against  me  outside  of  mere  hearsay  I  wish  you  to 
say  it." 

The  Senator  stood  before  him,  a  very  citadel  of  right- 
eousness. He  was  neither  loud-voiced  nor  angry-man* 
nered,  but  there  was  a  tightness  about  his  lips  which 
bespoke  the  man  of  force  and  determination. 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you  any  more,"  returned 
Gerhardt,  who  was  checked  but  not  overawed.  "My 
daughter  is  my  daughter.  I  am  the  one  who  will  say 
whether  she  shall  go  out  at  night,  or  whether  she  shall 
marry  you,  either.  I  know  what  you  politicians  are. 
When  I  first  met  you  I  thought  you  were  a  fine  man,  but 
now,  since  I  see  the  way  you  conduct  yourself  with  my 
daughter,  I  don't  want  anything  more  to  do  with  you. 
Just  you  go  and  stay  away  from  here.  That's  all  I  ask 
of  you." 

"I  am  sorry,  Mrs.  Gerhardt,"  said  Brander,  turning 
deliberately  away  from  the  angry  father,  "to  have  had 
such  an  argument  in  your  home.  I  had  no  idea  that  your 
husband  was  opposed  to  my  visits.  However,  I  will 
leave  the  matter  as  it  stands  for  the  present.  You  must 
not  take  all  this  as  badly  as  it  seems." 

Gerhardt  looked  on  in  astonishment  at  his  coolness. 

"I  will  go  now,"  he  said,  again  addressing  Gerhardt, 
"but  you  mustn't  think  that  I  am  leaving  this  matter 
for  good.  You  have  made  a  serious  mistake  this  even- 
ing. I  hope  you  will  realize  that.  I  bid  you  good- 
night." He  bowed  slightly  and  went  out. 

Gerhardt  closed  the  door  firmly.  "Now,"  he  said, 
turning  to  his  daughter  and  wife,  "we  will  see  whether 
we  are  rid  of  him  or  not.  I  will  show  you  how  to  go 
after  night  upon  the  streets  when  everybody  is  talking 
already." 

In  so  far  as  words  were  concerned,  the  argument  ceased, 

64 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

but  looks  and  feeling  ran  strong  and  deep,  and  for  days 
thereafter  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  in  the  little  cot- 
tage. Gerhardt  began  to  brood  over  the  fact  that  he 
had  accepted  his  place  from  the  Senator  and  decided  to 
give  it  up.  He  made  it  known  that  no  more  of  the 
Senator's  washing  was  to  be  done  in  their  house,  and  if 
he  had  not  been  sure  that  Mrs.  Gerhardt 's  hotel  work 
was  due  to  her  own  efforts  in  finding  it  he  would  have 
stopped  that.  No  good  would  come  out  of  it,  anyway. 
If  she  had  never  gone  to  the  hotel  all  this  talk  would 
never  have  come  upon  them. 

As  for  the  Senator,  he  went  away  decidedly  ruffled  by 
this  crude  occurrence.  Neighborhood  slanders  are  bad 
enough  on  their  own  plane,  but  for  a  man  of  his  standing 
to  descend  and  become  involved  in  one  struck  him  now 
as  being  a  little  bit  unworthy.  He  did  not  know  what 
to  do  about  the  situation,  and  while  he  was  trying  to 
come  to  some  decision  several  days  went  by.  Then  he 
was  called  to  Washington,  and  he  went  away  without 
having  seen  Jennie  again. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Gerhardt  family  struggled  along 
as  before.  They  were  poor,  indeed,  but  Gerhardt  was 
willing  to  face  poverty  if  only  it  could  be  endured  with 
honor.  The  grocery  bills  were  of  the  same  size,  how- 
ever. The  children's  clothing  was  steadily  wearing  out. 
Economy  had  to  be  practised,  and  payments  stopped  on 
old  bills  that  Gerhardt  was  trying  to  adjust. 

Then  came  a  day  when  the  annual  interest  on  the 
mortgage  was  due,  and  yet  another  when  two  different 
grocery-men  met  Gerhardt  on  the  street  and  asked  about 
their  little  bills.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  explain  just 
what  the  situation  was,  and  to  tell  them  with  convincing 
honesty  that  he  would  try  hard  and  do  the  best  he  could. 
But  his  spirit  was  unstrung  by  his  misfortunes.  He 
prayed  for  the  favor  of  Heaven  while  at  his  labor,  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  use  the  daylight  hours  that  he  should 
have  had  for  sleeping  to  go  about — either  looking  for  a 

6s 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

more  remunerative  position  or  to  obtain  such  little  jobs 
as  he  could  now  and  then  pick  up.  One  of  them  was 
that  of  cutting  grass. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  protested  that  he  was  killing  himself, 
but  he  explained  his  procedure  by  pointing  to  their 
necessity. 

"When  people  stop  me  on  the  street  and  ask  me  for 
money  I  have  no  time  to  sleep." 

It  was  a  distressing  situation  for  all  of  them. 

To  cap  it  all,  Sebastian  got  in  jail.  It  was  that  old 
coal-stealing  ruse  of  his  practised  once  too  often.  He  got 
up  on  a  car  one  evening  while  Jennie  and  the  children 
waited  for  him,  and  a  railroad  detective  arrested  him. 
There  had  been  a  good  deal  of  coal  stealing  during  the 
past  two  years,  but  so  long  as  it  was  confined  to  moderate 
quantities  the  railroad  took  no  notice.  When,  however, 
customers  of  shippers  complained  that  cars  from  the 
Pennsylvania  fields  lost  thousands  of  pounds  in  transit 
to  Cleveland,  Cincinnati,  Chicago,  and  other  points, 
detectives  were  set  to  work.  Gerhardt's  children  were 
not  the  only  ones  who  preyed  upon  the  railroad  in  this 
way.  Other  families  in  Columbus — many  of  them — 
were  constantly  doing  the  same  thing,  but  Sebastian 
happened  to  be  seized  upon  as  the  Columbus  example. 

"You  come  off  that  car  now,"  said  the  detective, 
suddenly  appearing  out  of  the  shadow.  Jennie  and  the 
other  children  dropped  their  baskets  and  buckets  and 
fled  for  their  lives.  Sebastian's  first  impulse  was  to 
jump  and  run,  but  when  he  tried  it  the  detective 
grabbed  him  by  the  coat. 

"Hold  on  here,"  he  exclaimed.    "I  want  you." 

"Aw,  let  go,"  said  Sebastian  savagely,  for  he  was  no 
weakling.  There  was  nerve  and  determination  in  him, 
as  well  as  a  keen  sense  of  his  awkward  predica- 
ment. 

"  Let  go,  I  tell  you, "he  reiterated, and  giving  a  jerk,  he 
almost  upset  his  captor. 

66 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Come  here  now,"  said  the  detective,  pulling  him 
viciously  in  an  effort  to  establish  his  authority. 

Sebastian  came,  but  it  was  with  a  blow  which  stag- 
gered his  adversary. 

There  was  more  struggling,  and  then  a  passing  railroad 
hand  came  to  the  detective's  assistance.  Together  they 
hurried  him  toward  the  depot,  and  there  discovering  the 
local  officer,  turned  him  over.  It  was  with  a  torn  coat, 
scarred  hands  and  face,  and  a  black  eye  that  Sebastian 
was  locked  up  for  the  night. 

When  the  children  came  home  they  could  not  say 
what  had  happened  to  their  brother,  but  as  nine  o'clock 
struck,  and  then  ten  and  eleven,  and  Sebastian  did  not 
return,  Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  beside  herself.  He  had 
stayed  out  many  a  night  as  late  as  twelve  and  one,  but 
his  mother  had  a  foreboding  of  something  terrible  to- 
night. When  half-past  one  arrived,  and  no  Sebastian, 
she  began  to  cry. 

"Some  one  ought  to  go  up  and  tell  your  father,"  she 
said .  "He  may  be  in  jail . " 

Jennie  volunteered,  but  George,  who  was  soundly 
sleeping,  was  awakened  to  go  along  with  her. 

"What!"  said  Gerhardt,  astonished  to  see  his  two 
children. 

"Bass  hasn't  come  yet,"  said  Jennie,  and  then  told 
the  story  of  the  evening's  adventure  in  explanation. 

Gerhardt  left  his  work  at  once,  walking  back  with  his 
two  children  to  a  point  where  he  could  turn  off  to  go  to 
the  jail.  He  guessed  what  had  happened,  and  his  heart 
was  troubled. 

"  Is  that  so,  now!"  he  repeated  nervously,  rubbing  his 
clumsy  hands  across  his  wet  forehead. 

Arrived  at  the  station-house,  the  sergeant  in  charge 
told  him  curtly  that  Bass  was  under  arrest. 

"Sebastian  Gerhardt?"  he  said,  looking  over  his  blot- 
ter;  "yes,  here  he  is.     Stealing  coal  and  resisting  an 
officer.     Is  he  your  boy?" 
6  67 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Oh,  my!"  said  Gerhardt,  "Ach  GottT  He  actually 
wrung  his  hands  in  distress. 

"Want  to  see  him?"  asked  the  Sergeant. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  father. 

"Take  him  back,  Fred,"  said  the  other  to  the  old 
watchman  in  charge,  "and  let  him  see  the  boy." 

When  Gerhardt  stood  in  the  back  room,  and  Sebastian 
was  brought  out  all  marked  and  tousled,  he  broke  down 
and  began  to  cry.  No  word  could  cross  his  lips  because 
of  his  emotion. 

"  Don't  cry,  pop,"  said  Sebastian  bravely.  "  I  couldn't 
help  it.  It's  all  right.  I'll  be  out  in  the  morning." 

Gerhardt  only  shook  with  his  grief. 

"Don't  cry,"  continued  Sebastian,  doing  his  very  best 
to  restrain  his  own  tears.  "I'll  be  all  right.  What's  the 
use  of  crying?" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  gray-headed  parent  bro- 
kenly, "but  I  can't  help  it.  It  is  my  fault  that  I  should 
let  you  do  that." 

"No,  no,  it  isn't,"  said  Sebastian.  "You  couldn't 
help  it.  Does  mother  know  anything  about  it?" 

"Yes,  she  knows,"  he  returned.  "Jennie  and  George 
just  came  up  where  I  was  and  told  me.  I  didn't  know 
anything  about  it  until  just  now,"  and  he  began  to  cry 
again. 

"Well,  don't  you  feel  badly,"  went  on  Bass,  the  finest 
part  of  his  nature  coming  to  the  surface.  "I'll  be  all 
right.  Just  you  go  back  to  work  now,  and  don't  worry. 
I'll  be  all  right." 

"  How  did  you  hurt  your  eye  ?"  asked  the  father,  look- 
ing at  him  with  red  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  had  a  little  wrestling  match  with  the  man  who 
nabbed  me,"  said  the  boy,  smiling  bravely.  "  I  thought 
I  could  get  away." 

"You  shouldn't  do  that,  Sebastian,"  said  the  father. 
"It  may  go  harder  with  you  on  that  account.  When 
does  your  case  come  up  ?" 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"In  the  morning,  they  told  me,"  said  Bass.  "Nine 
o'clock." 

Gerhardt  stayed  with  his  son  for  some  time,  and  dis- 
cussed the  question  of  bail,  fine,  and  the  dire  possibility 
of  a  jail  sentence  without  arriving  at  any  definite  con- 
clusion. Finally  he  was  persuaded  by  Bass  to  go  away, 
but  the  departure  was  the  occasion  for  another  outburst 
of  feeling;  he  was  led  away  shaking  and  broken  with 
emotion. 

"  It's  pretty  tough,"  said  Bass  to  himself  as  he  was  led 
back  to  his  cell.  He  was  thinking  solely  of  his  father. 
"  I  wonder  what  ma  will  think." 

The  thought  of  this  touched  him  tenderly.  "  I  wish 
I'd  knocked  the  dub  over  the  first  crack,"  he  said.  "  What 
a  fool  I  was  not  to  get  away." 


CHAPTER  VII 

/""^ERHARDT  was  in  despair;  he  did  not  know  any 
\J  one  to  whom  he  could  appeal  between  the  hours  of 
two  and  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  went  back  to 
talk  with  his  wife,  and  then  to  his  post  of  duty.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  He  could  think  of  only  one  friend  who 
was  able,  or  possibly  willing  to  do  anything.  This  was 
the  glass  manufacturer,  Hammond;  but  he  was  not  in 
the  city.  Gerhardt  did  not  know  this,  however. 

When  nine  o'clock  came,  he  went  alone  to  the  court, 
for  it  was  thought  advisable  that  the  others  should  stay 
away.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  to  hear  immediately  what 
happened.  He  would  come  right  back. 

When  Sebastian  was  lined  up  inside  the  dock  he  had 
to  wait  a  long  time,  for  there  were  several  prisoners 
ahead  of  him.  Finally  his  name  was  called,  and  the  boy 
was  pushed  forward  to  the  bar.  "Stealing  coal,  Your 
Honor,  and  resisting  arrest,"  explained  the  officer  who 
had  arrested  him. 

The  magistrate  looked  at  Sebastian  closely;  he  was 
unfavorably  impressed  by  the  lad's  scratched  and 
wounded  face. 

"  Well,  young  man,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourself  ?  How  did  you  get  your  black  eye  ?" 

Sebastian  looked  at  the  judge,  but  did  not  answer. 

"  I  arrested  him,"  said  the  detective.  "  He  was  on  one 
of  the  company's  cars.  He  tried  to  break  away  from  me, 
and  when  I  held  him  he  assaulted  me.  This  man  here 
was  a  witness,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  railroad  hand 
who  had  helped  him. 

70 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Is  that  where  he  struck  you?"  asked  the  Court, ob- 
serving the  detective's  swollen  jaw. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  returned,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  be 
further  revenged. 

"If  you  please,"  put  in  Gerhardt,  leaning  forward, 
"  he  is  my  boy.  He  was  sent  to  get  the  coal.  He — " 

"We  don't  mind  what  they  pick  up  around  the  yard," 
interrupted  the  detective,  "but  he  was  throwing  it  off 
the  cars  to  half  a  dozen  others." 

"Can't  you  earn  enough  to  keep  from  taking  coal  off 
the  coal  cars?"  asked  the  Court;  but  before  either  father 
or  son  had  time  to  answer  he  added,  "What  is  your 
business?" 

"Car  builder,"  said  Sebastian. 

"And  what  do  you  do?"  he  questioned,  addressing 
Gerhardt. 

"I  am  watchman  at  Miller's  furniture  factory." 

"  Um,"  said  the  court,  feeling  that  Sebastian's  attitude 
remained  sullen  and  contentious.  "Well,  this  young 
man  might  be  let  off  on  the  coal-stealing  charge,  but  he 
seems  to  be  somewhat  too  free  with  his  fists.  Columbus 
is  altogether  too  rich  in  that  sort  of  thing.  Ten  dollars." 

"If  you  please,"  began  Gerhardt,  but  the  court  officer 
was  already  pushing  him  away. 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  it,"  said  the 
judge.  "He's  stubborn,  anyhow.  What's  the  next 
case?" 

Gerhardt  made  his  way  over  to  his  boy,  abashed  and 
yet  very  glad  it  was  no  worse.  Somehow,  he  thought,  he 
could  raise  the  money.  Sebastian  looked  at  him  solici- 
tously as  he  came  forward. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Bass  soothingly.  "  He  didn't  give 
me  half  a  chance  to  say  anything." 

"I'm  only  glad  it  wasn't  more,"  said  Gerhardt  ner- 
vously. "We  will  try  and  get  the  money." 

Going  home  to  his  wife,  Gerhardt  informed  the 
troubled  household  of  the  result.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  stood 

71 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

white  and  yet  relieved,  for  ten  dollars  seemed  some- 
thing that  might  be  had.  Jennie  heard  the  whole  story 
with  open  mouth  and  wide  eyes.  It  was  a  terrible 
blow  to  her.  Poor  Bass!  He  was  always  so  lively 
and  good-natured.  It  seemed  awful  that  he  should  be 
in  jail. 

Gerhardt  went  hurriedly  to  Hammond's  fine  residence, 
but  he  was  not  in  the  city.  He  thought  then  of  a  lawyer 
by  the  name  of  Jenkins,  whom  he  knew  in  a  casual  way, 
but  Jenkins  was  not  at  his  office.  There  were  several 
grocers  and  coal  merchants  whom  he  knew  well  enough, 
but  he  owed  them  money.  Pastor  Wundt  might  let 
him  have  it,  but  the  agony  such  a  disclosure 
to  that  worthy  would  entail  held  him  back.  He  did 
call  on  one  or  two  acquaintances,  but  these,  surprised 
at  the  unusual  and  peculiar  request,  excused  them- 
selves. At  four  o'clock  he  returned  home,  weary  and 
exhausted. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said  despairingly.  "  If 
I  could  only  think." 

Jennie  thought  of  Brander,  but  the  situation  had  not 
accentuated  her  desperation  to  the  point  where  she 
could  brave  her  father's  opposition  and  his  terrible  in- 
sult to  the  Senator,  so  keenly  remembered,  to  go  and 
ask.  Her  watch  had  been  pawned  a  second  time,  and 
she  had  no  other  means  of  obtaining  money. 

The  family  council  lasted  until  half-past  ten,  but  still 
there  was  nothing  decided.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  persistently 
and  monotonously  turned  one  hand  over  in  the  other  and 
stared  at  the  floor.  Gerhardt  ran  his  hand  through  his 
reddish  brown  hair  distractedly.  "It's  no  use,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  I  can't  think  of  anything." 

"Go  to  bed,  Jennie,"  said  her  mother  solicitously; 
"get  the  others  to  go.  There's  no  use  their  sitting  up 
I  may  think  of  something.  You  go  to  bed." 

Jennie  went  to  her  room,  but  the  very  thought  of  repose 
was  insupportable.  She  had  read  in  the  paper,  shortly 

72 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

after  her  father's  quarrel  with  the  Senator,  that  the 
latter  had  departed  for  Washington.  There  had  been 
no  notice  of  his  return.  Still  he  might  be  in  the  city. 
She  stood  before  a  short,  narrow  mirror  that  sur- 
mounted a  shabby  bureau,  thinking.  Her  sister  Veron- 
ica, with  whom  she  slept,  was  already  composing  her- 
self to  dreams.  Finally  a  grim  resolution  fixed  itself 
in  her  consciousness.  She  would  go  and  see  Senator 
Brander.  If  he  were  in  town  he  would  help  Bass. 
Why  shouldn't  she — he  loved  her.  He  had  asked  over 
and  over  to  marry  her.  Why  should  she  not  go  and 
ask  him  for  help  ? 

She  hesitated  a  little  while,  then  hearing  Veronica 
breathing  regularly,  she  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket,  and 
noiselessly  opened  the  door  into  the  sitting-room  to  see  if 
any  one  were  stirring. 

There  was  no  sound  save  that  of  Gerhardt  rocking 
nervously  to  and  fro  in  the  kitchen.  There  was  no  light 
save  that  of  her  own  small  room-lamp  and  a  gleam  from 
under  the  kitchen  door.  She  turned  and  blew  the  former 
out — then  slipped  quietly  to  the  front  door,  opened  it  and 
stepped  out  into  the  night. 

A  waning  moon  was  shining,  and  a  hushed  sense  of 
growing  life  filled  the  air,  for  it  was  nearing  spring  again. 
As  Jennie  hurried  along  the  shadowy  streets — the  arc 
light  had  not  yet  been  invented — she  had  a  sinking  sense 
of  fear;  what  was  this  rash  thing  she  was  about  to  do? 
How  would  the  Senator  receive  her?  What  would  he 
think?  She  stood  stock-still,  wavering  and  doubtful; 
then  the  recollection  of  Bass  in  his  night  cell  came  over 
her  again,  and  she  hurried  on. 

The  character  of  the  Capitol  Hotel  was  such  that  it 
was  not  difficult  for  a  woman  to  find  ingress  through  the 
ladies'  entrance  to  the  various  floors  of  the  hotel  at  any 
hour  of  the  night.  The  hotel,  not  unlike  many  others 
of  the  time,  was  in  no  sense  loosely  conducted,  but  its 
method  of  supervision  in  places  was  lax.  Any  per- 

73 


JENNIE   GER'HARDT 

son  could  enter,  and,  by  applying  at  a  rear  entrance 
to  the  lobby,  gain  the  attention  of  the  clerk.  Other- 
wise not  much  notice  was  taken  of  those  who  came 
and  went. 

When  she  came  to  the  door  it  was  dark  save  for  a  low 
light  burning  in  the  entry-way.  The  distance  to  the 
Senator's  room  was  only  a  short  way  along  the  hall  of  the 
second  floor.  She  hurried  up  the  steps,  nervous  and  pale, 
but  giving  no  other  outward  sign  of  the  storm  that  was 
surging  within  her.  When  she  came  to  his  familiar  door 
she  paused;  she  feared  that  she  might  not  find  him  in 
his  room;  she  trembled  again  to  think  that  he  might  be 
there.  A  light  shone  through  the  transom,  and,  sum- 
moning all  her  courage,  she  knocked.  A  man  coughed 
and  bestirred  himself. 

His  surprise  as  he  opened  the  door  knew  no  bounds. 
"Why,  Jennie!"  he  exclaimed.  "How  delightful!  I 
was  thinking  of  you.  Come  in — come  in." 

He  welcomed  her  with  an  eager  embrace. 

"  I  was  coming  out  to  see  you,  believe  me,  I  was.  I 
was  thinking  all  along  how  I  could  straighten  this  matter 
out.  And  now  you  come.  But  what's  the  trouble  ?" 

He  held  her  at  arm's  length  and  studied  her  distressed 
face.  The  fresh  beauty  of  her  seemed  to  him  like  cut 
lilies  wet  with  dew. 

He  felt  a  great  surge  of  tenderness. 

"I  have  something  to  ask  you,"  she  at  last  brought 
herself  to  say.  "  My  brother  is  in  jail.  We  need  ten  dol- 
lars to  get  him  out,  and  I  didn't  know  where  else  to  go." 

"  My  poor  child !"  he  said,  chafing  her  hands.  "Where 
else  should  you  go  ?  Haven't  I  told  you  always  to  come 
to  me?  Don't  you  know,  Jennie,  I  would  do  anything 
in  the  world  for  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  gasped. 

"Well,  then,  don't  worry  about  that  any  more.  But 
won't  fate  ever  cease  striking  at  you,  poor  child  ?  How 
did  your  brother  come  to  get  in  jail  ?" 

74 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"They  caught  him  throwing  coal  down  from  the  cars," 
she  replied. 

"Ah!"  he  replied,  his  sympathies  touched  and  awak- 
ened. Here  was  this  boy  arrested  and  fined  for  what 
fate  was  practically  driving  him  to  do.  Here  was  this 
girl  pleading  with  him  at  night,  in  his  room,  for  what  to 
her  was  a  great  necessity — ten  dollars;  to  him,  a  mere 
nothing.  "I  will  arrange  about  your  brother,"  he  said 
quickly.  "Don't  worry.  I  can  get  him  out  in  half  an 
hour.  You  sit  here  now  and  be  comfortable  until  I 
return." 

He  waved  her  to  his  easy-chair  beside  a  large  lamp,  and 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Brander  knew  the  sheriff  who  had  personal  super- 
vision of  the  county  jail.  He  knew  the  judge  who  had 
administered  the  fine.  It  was  but  a  five  minutes'  task 
to  write  a  note  to  the  judge  asking  him  to  revoke  the  fine, 
for  the  sake  of  the  boy's  character,  and  send  it  by  a 
messenger  to  his  home.  Another  ten  minutes'  task  to  go 
personally  to  the  jail  and  ask  his  friend,  the  sheriff,  to 
release  the  boy  then  and  there. 

"  Here  is  the  money,"  he  said.  "  If  the  fine  is  revoked 
you  can  return  it  to  me.  Let  him  go  now." 

The  sheriff  was  only  too  glad  to  comply.  He  hastened 
below  to  personally  supervise  the  task,  and  Bass,  a  very 
much  astonished  boy,  was  set  free.  No  explanations 
were  vouchsafed  him. 

"That's  all  right  now,"  said  the  turnkey.  "You're 
at  liberty.  Run  along  home  and  don't  let  them  catch 
you  at  anything  like  that  again." 

Bass  went  his  way  wondering,  and  the  ex-Senator 
returned  to  his  hotel  trying  to  decide  just  how  this  deli- 
cate situation  should  be  handled.  Obviously  Jennie 
had  not  told  her  father  of  her  mission.  She  had  come  as 
a  last  resource.  She  was  now  waiting  for  him  in  his 
room. 

There  are  crises  in  all  men's  lives  when  they  waver 

75 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

between  the  strict  fulfilment  of  justice  and  duty  and  the 
great  possibilities  for  personal  happiness  which  another 
line  of  conduct  seems  to  assure.  And  the  dividing  line 
is  not  always  marked  and  clear.  He  knew  that  the 
issue  of  taking  her,  even  as  his  wife,  was  made  difficult  by 
the  senseless  opposition  of  her  father.  The  opinion  of  the 
world  brought  up  still  another  complication.  Supposing 
he  should  take  her  openly,  what  would  the  world  say? 
She  was  a  significant  type  emotionally,  that  he  knew. 
There  was  something  there — artistically,  temperamen- 
tally, which  was  far  and  beyond  the  keenest  suspicion 
of  the  herd.  He  did  not  know  himself  quite  what  it  was, 
but  he  felt  a  largeness  of  feeling  not  altogether  squared 
with  intellect,  or  perhaps  better  yet,  experience,  which 
was  worthy  of  any  man's  desire.  "This  remarkable 
girl,"  he  thought,  seeing  her  clearly  in  his  mind's  eye. 

Meditating  as  to  what  he  should  do,  he  returned  to  his 
hotel,  and  the  room.  As  he  entered  he  was  struck  anew 
with  her  beauty,  and  with  the  irresistible  appeal  of  her 
personality.  In  the  glow  of  the  shaded  lamp  she  seemed 
a  figure  of  marvelous  potentiality. 

"Well,"  he  said,  endeavoring  to  appear  calm,  "I  have 
looked  after  your  brother.  He  is  out." 

She  rose. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands  and  stretch- 
ing her  arms  out  toward  him.  There  were  tears  of 
gratefulness  in  her  eyes. 

He  saw  them  and  stepped  close  to  her.  "Jennie,  for 
heaven's  sake  don't  cry,"  he  entreated.  "You  angel! 
You  sister  of  mercy!  To  think  you  should  have  to  add 
tears  to  your  other  sacrifices." 

He  drew  her  to  him,  and  then  all  the  caution  of  years 
deserted  him.  There  was  a  sense  both  of  need  and  of 
fulfilment  in  his  mood.  At  last,  in  spite  of  other  losses, 
fate  had  brought  him  what  he  most  desired — love,  a 
woman  whom  he  could  love.  He  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

The  English  Jefferies  has  told  us  that  it  requires  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  to  make  a  perfect  maiden. 
"From  all  enchanted  things  of  earth  and  air,  this  pre- 
ciousness  has  been  drawn.  From  the  south  wind  that 
breathed  a  century  and  a  half  over  the  green  wheat; 
from  the  perfume  of  the  growing  grasses  waving  over 
heavy-laden  clover  and  laughing  veronica,  hiding  the 
green  finches,  baffling  the  bee;  from  rose-lined  hedge, 
woodbine,  and  cornflower,  azure  blue,  where  yellowing 
wheat  stalks  crowd  up  under  the  shadow  of  green  firs. 
All  the  devious  brooklets'  sweetness  where  the  iris  stays 
the  sunlight ;  all  the  wild  woods  hold  of  beauty ;  all  the 
broad  hills  of  thyme  and  freedom — thrice  a  hundred 
years  repeated. 

"A  hundred  years  of  cowslips,  bluebells,  violets; 
purple  spring  and  golden  autumn ;  sunshine,  shower,  and 
dewy  mornings;  the  night  immortal;  all  the  rhythm  of 
time  unrolling.  A  chronicle  unwritten  and  past  all 
power  of  writing;  who  shall  preserve  a  record  of  the 
petals  that  fell  from  the  roses  a  century  ago  ?  The  swal- 
lows to  the  house-tops  three  hundred  times — think  of 
that !  Thence  she  sprang,  and  the  world  yearns  toward 
her  beauty  as  to  flowers  that  are  past.  The  loveliness 
of  seventeen  is  centuries  old.  That  is  why  passion  is 
almost  sad." 

If  you  have  understood  and  appreciated  the  beauty  of 
harebells  three  hundred  times  repeated;  if  the  quality 
of  the  roses,  of  the  music,  of  the  ruddy  mornings  and 
evenings  of  the  world  has  ever  touched  your  heart;  if 
all  beauty  were  passing,  and  you  were  given  these  things 
to  hold  in  your  arms  before  the  world  slipped  away, 
would  you  give  them  up  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII 

significance  of  the  material  and  spiritual  changes 
1  which  sometimes  overtake  us  are  not  very  clear  at 
the  time.  A  sense  of  shock,  a  sense  of  danger,  and  then 
apparently  we  subside  to  old  ways,  but  the  change  has 
come.  Never  again,  here  or  elsewhere,  will  we  be  the 
same.  Jennie  pondering  after  the  subtle  emotional  turn 
which  her  evening's  sympathetic  expedition  had  taken, 
was  lost  in  a  vague  confusion  of  emotions.  She  had  no 
definite  realization  of  what  social  and  physical  changes 
this  new  relationship  to  the  Senator  might  entail.  She 
was  not  conscious  as  yet  of  that  shock  which  the  possi- 
bility of  maternity,  even  under  the  most  favorable 
conditions,  must  bring  to  the  average  woman.  Her 
present  attitude  was  one  of  surprise,  wonder,  uncer- 
tainty; and  at  the  same  time  she  experienced  a  genuine 
feeling  of  quiet  happiness.  Brander  was  a  good  man; 
now  he  was  closer  to  her  than  ever.  He  loved  her. 
Because  of  this  new  relationship  a  change  in  her  social 
condition  was  to  inevitably  follow.  Life  was  to  be 
radically  different  from  now  on — was  different  at  this 
moment.  Brander  assured  her  over  and  over  of  his 
enduring  affection. 

"I  tell  you,  Jennie,"  he  repeated,  as  she  was  leaving, 
"  I  don't  want  you  to  worry.  This  emotion  of  mine  got 
the  best  of  me,  but  I'll  marry  you.  I've  been  carried 
off  my  feet,  but  I'll  make  it  up  to  you.  Go  home  and 
say  nothing  at  all.  Caution  your  brother,  if  it  isn't  too 
late.  Keep  your  own  counsel,  and  I  will  marry  you 
and  take  you  away.  I  can't  do  it  right  now.  I  don't 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

want  to  do  it  here.  But  I'm  going  to  Washington,  and 
I'll  send  for  you.  And  here" — he  reached  for  his  purse 
and  took  from  it  a  hundred  dollars,  practically  all 
he  had  with  him,  "take  that.  I'll  send  you  more  to- 
morrow. You're  my  girl  now — remember  that.  You 
belong  to  me." 

He  embraced  her  tenderly. 

She  went  out  into  the  night,  thinking.  No  doubt  he 
would  do  as  he  said.  She  dwelt,  in  imagination,  upon 
the  possibilities  of  a  new  and  fascinating  existence.  Of 
course  he  would  marry  her.  Think  of  it !  She  would  go 
to  Washington — that  far-off  place.  And  her  father  and 
mother — they  would  not  need  to  work  so  hard  any 
more.  And  Bass,  and  Martha — she  fairly  glowed  as  she 
recounted  to  herself  the  many  ways  in  which  she  could 
help  them  all. 

A  block  away  she  waited  for  Brander,  who  accom- 
panied her  to  her  own  gate,  and  waited  while  she 
made  a  cautious  reconnaissance.  She  slipped  up  the 
steps  and  tried  the  door.  It  was  open.  She  paused 
a  moment  to  indicate  to  her  lover  that  she  was  safe, 
and  entered.  All  was  silent  within.  She  slipped  to 
her  own  room  and  heard  Veronica  breathing.  She 
went  quietly  to  where  Bass  slept  with  George.  He  was 
in  bed,  stretched  out  as  if  asleep.  When  she  entered  he 
asked,  "Is  that  you,  Jennie?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"Listen,"  she  whispered.  "Have  you  seen  papa  and 
mamma?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  they  know  I  had  gone  out?" 

"  Ma  did.  She  told  me  not  to  ask  after  you.  Where 
have  you  been?" 

"  I  went  to  see  Senator  Brander  for  you." 

"Oh,  that  was  it.  They  didn't  say  why  they  let  me 
out." 

79 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"Don't  tell  any  one,"  she  pleaded.  "I  don't  want 
any  one  to  know.  You  know  how  papa  feels  about  him." 

"All  right,"  he  replied.  But  he  was  curious  as  to 
what  the  ex-Senator  thought,  what  he  had  done,  and 
how  she  had  appealed  to  him.  She  explained  briefly, 
then  she  heard  her  mother  come  to  the  door. 

"Jennie,"  she  whispered. 

Jennie  went  out. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  go?"  she  asked. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  ma,"  she  replied.  "I  thought  I 
must  do  something." 

"Why  did  you  stay  so  long?" 

"He  wanted  to  talk  to  me,"  she  answered  evasively. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  nervously,  wanly. 

"I  have  been  so  afraid,  oh,  so  afraid.  Your  father 
went  to  your  room,  but  I  said  you  were  asleep.  He 
locked  the  front  door,  but  I  opened  it  again.  When 
Bass  came  in  he  wanted  to  call  you,  but  I  persuaded  him 
to  wait  until  morning." 

Again  she  looked  wistfully  at  her  daughter. 

"I'm  all  right,  mamma,"  said  Jennie  encouragingly. 
"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  to-morrow.  Go  to  bed.  How 
does  he  think  Bass  got  out?" 

"  He  doesn't  know.  He  thought  maybe  they  just  let 
him  go  because  he  couldn't  pay  the  fine." 

Jennie  laid  her  hand  lovingly  on  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"Go  to  bed,"  she  said. 

She  was  already  years  older  in  thought  and  act.  She 
felt  as  though  she  must  help  her  mother  now  as  well  as 
herself. 

The  days  which  followed  were  ones  of  dreamy  uncer- 
tainty to  Jennie.  She  went  over  in  her  mind  these 
dramatic  events  time  and  time  and  time  and  again.  It 
was  not  such  a  difficult  matter  to  tell  her  mother  that 
the  Senator  had  talked  again  of  marriage,  that  he  pro- 
posed to  come  and  get  her  after  his  next  trip  to  Washing- 
ton, that  he  had  given  her  a  hundred  dollars  and  in- 

80 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

tended  to  give  her  more,  but  of  that  other  matter — the 
one  all-important  thing,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
speak.  It  was  too  sacred.  The  balance  of  the  money 
that  he  had  promised  her  arrived  by  messenger  the 
following  day,  four  hundred  dollars  in  bills,  with  the 
admonition  that  she  should  put  it  in  a  local  bank.  The 
ex-Senator  explained  that  he  was  already  on  his  way  to 
Washington,  but  that  he  would  come  back  or  send  for 
her.  "Keep  a  stout  heart,"  he  wrote.  "There  are 
better  days  in  store  for  you." 

Brander  was  gone,  and  Jennie's  fate  was  really  in  the 
balance.  But  her  mind  still  retained  all  of  the  heart- 
innocence,  and  unsophistication  of  her  youth ;  a  certain 
gentle  wistfulness  was  the  only  outward  change  in  her 
demeanor.  He  would  surely  send  for  her.  There  was 
the  mirage  of  a  distant  country  and  wondrous  scenes 
looming  up  in  her  mind.  She  had  a  little  fortune  in  the 
bank,  more  than  she  had  ever  dreamed  of,  with  which 
to  help  her  mother.  There  were  natural,  girlish  antici- 
pations of  good  still  holding  over,  which  made  her  less 
apprehensive  than  she  could  otherwise  possibly  have 
been.  All  nature,  life,  possibility  was  in  the  balance.  It 
might  turn  good,  or  ill,  but  with  so  inexperienced  a  soul 
it  would  not  be  entirely  evil  until  it  was  so. 

How  a  mind  under  such  uncertain  circumstances 
could  retain  so  comparatively  placid  a  vein  is  one  of  those 
marvels  which  find  their  explanation  in  the  inherent 
trustfulness  of  the  spirit  of  youth.  It  is  not  often  that 
the  minds  of  men  retain  the  perceptions  of  their  younger 
days.  The  marvel  is  not  that  one  should  thus  retain,  but 
that  any  should  ever  lose  them  Go  the  world  over,  and 
after  you  have  put  away  the  wonder  and  tenderness  of 
youth  what  is  there  left  ?  The  few  sprigs  of  green  that 
sometimes  invade  the  barrenness  of  your  materialism,  the 
few  glimpses  of  summer  which  flash  past  the  eye  of  the 
wintry  soul,  the  half  hours  off  during  the  long  tedium  of 
burrowing,  these  reveal  to  the  hardened  earth-seeker 

81 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

the  universe  which  the  youthful  mind  has  with  it  always. 
No  fear  and  no  favor;  the  open  fields  and  the  light  upon 
the  hills;  morning,  noon,  night;  stars,  the  bird-calls,  the 
water's  purl — these  are  the  natural  inheritance  of  the 
mind  of  the  child.  Men  call  it  poetic,  those  who  are 
hardened  fanciful.  In  the  days  of  their  youth  it  was 
natural,  but  the  receptiveness  of  youth  has  departed, 
and  they  cannot  see. 

How  this  worked  out  in  her  personal  actions  was  to  be 
seen  only  in  a  slightly  accentuated  wistfulness,  a  touch 
of  which  was  in  every  task.  Sometimes  she  would  won- 
der that  no  letter  came,  but  at  the  same  time  she  would 
recall  the  fact  that  he  had  specified  a  few  weeks,  and 
hence  the  six  that  actually  elapsed  did  not  seem  so 
long. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  distinguished  ex-Senator  had 
gone  light-heartedly  to  his  conference  with  the  President, 
he  had  joined  in  a  pleasant  round  of  social  calls,  and  he 
was  about  to  pay  a  short  country  visit  to  some  friends  in 
Maryland,  when  he  was  seized  with  a  slight  attack  of 
fever,  which  confined  him  to  his  room  for  a  few  days.  He 
felt  a  little  irritated  that  he  should  be  laid  up  just  at  this 
time,  but  never  suspected  that  there  was  anything 
serious  in  his  indisposition.  Then  the  doctor  discovered 
that  he  was  suffering  from  a  virulent  form  of  typhoid,  the 
ravages  of  which  took  away  his  senses  for  a  time  and  left 
him  very  weak.  He  was  thought  to  be  convalescing, 
however,  when  just  six  weeks  after  he  had  last  parted 
with  Jennie,  he  was  seized  with  a  sudden  attack  of  heart 
failure  and  never  regained  consciousness.  Jennie  re- 
mained blissfully  ignorant  of  his  illness  and  did  not  even 
see  the  heavy-typed  headlines  of  the  announcement  of 
his  death  until  Bass  came  home  that  evening. 

"Look  here,  Jennie,"  he  said  excitedly,  "Brander's 
dead!" 

He  held  up  the  newspaper,  on  the  first  column  of 
Which  was  printed  in  heavy  block  type : 

82 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 


DEATH    OF    EX-SENATOR   BRANDER 

Sudden  Passing  of  Ohio's  Distinguished  Son. 
Succumbs  to  Heart  Failure  at  the  Arlington,  in 
Washington. 

Recent  attack  of  typhoid,  from  which  he  was  thought 

to  be  recovering,  proves  fatal.     Notable  phases 

of  a  remarkable  career. 

Jennie  looked  at  it  in  blank  amazement.  "Dead?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"There  it  is  in  the  paper,"  returned  Bass,  his  tone 
being  that  of  one  who  is  imparting  a  very  interesting 
piece  of  news.  "He  died  at  ten  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing." 


CHAPTER  IX 

JENNIE  took  the  paper  with  but  ill-concealed 
trembling  and  went  into  the  adjoining  room. 
There  she  stood  by  the  front  window  and  looked  at  it 
again,  a  sickening  sensation  of  dread  holding  her  as 
though  in  a  trance. 

"He  is  dead,"  was  all  that  her  mind  could  formulate 
for  the  time,  and  as  she  stood  there  the  voice  of  Bass 
recounting  the  fact  to  Gerhardt  in  the  adjoining  room 
sounded  in  her  ears.  "Yes,  he  is  dead,"  she  heard  him 
say;  and  once  again  she  tried  to  get  some  conception  of 
what  it  meant  to  her.  But  her  mind  seemed  a  blank. 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  Gerhardt  joined  her.  She  had 
heard  Bass's  announcement  and  had  seen  Jennie  leave 
the  room,  but  her  trouble  with  Gerhardt  over  the  Sena- 
tor had  caused  her  to  be  careful  of  any  display  of  emo- 
tion. No  conception  of  the  real  state  of  affairs  ever 
having  crossed  her  mind,  she  was  only  interested  in  see- 
ing how  Jennie  would  take  this  sudden  annihilation  of 
her  hopes. 

"Isn't  it  too  bad?"  she  said,  with  real  sorrow.  "To 
think  that  he  should  have  to  die  just  when  he  was  going 
to  do  so  much  for  you — for  us  all." 

She  paused,  expecting  some  word  of  agreement,  but 
Jennie  remained  unwontedly  dumb. 

"I  wouldn't  feel  badly,"  continued  Mrs.  Gerhardt. 
"  It  can't  be  helped.  He  meant  to  do  a  good  deal,  but 
you  mustn't  think  of  that  now.  It's  all  over,  and  it 
can't  be  helped,  you  know." 

She  paused  again,  and  still  Jennie  remained  motionless 

84 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

and  mute.  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  seeing  how  useless  her  words 
were,  concluded  that  Jennie  wished  to  be  alone,  and  she 
went  away. 

Still  Jennie  $tood  there,  and  now,  as  the  real  signifi- 
cance of  the  news  began  to  formulate  itself  into  consecu- 
tive thought,  she  began  to  realize  the  wretchedness  of  her 
position,  its  helplessness.  She  went  into  her  bedroom 
and  sat  down  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  from  which 
position  she  saw  a  very  pale,  distraught  face  staring  at 
her  from  out  of  the  small  mirror.  She  looked  at  it  un- 
certainly; could  that  really  be  her  own  countenance? 
"  I'll  have  to  go  away,"  she  thought,  and  began,  with  the 
courage  of  despair,  to  wonder  what  refuge  would  be  open 
to  her. 

In  the  mean  time  the  evening  meal  was  announced, 
and,  to  maintain  appearances,  she  went  out  and  joined 
the  family;  the  naturalness  of  her  part  was  very  difficult 
to  sustain.  Gerhardt  observed  her  subdued  condition 
without  guessing  the  depth  of  emotion  which  it  covered. 
Bass  was  too  much  interested  in  his  own  affairs  to  pay 
particular  attention  to  anybody. 

During  the  days  that  followed  Jennie  pondered  over 
the  difficulties  of  her  position  and  wondered  what  she 
should  do.  Money  she  had,  it  was  true;  but  no  friends, 
no  experience,  no  place  to  go.  She  had  always  lived 
with  her  family.  She  began  to  feel  unaccountable  sink- 
ings of  spirit,  nameless  and  formless  fears  seemed  to 
surround  and  haunt  her.  Once  when  she  arose  in  the 
morning  she  felt  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  cry,  and 
frequently  thereafter  this  feeling  would  seize  upon  her 
at  the  most  inopportune  times.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  began 
to  note  her  moods,  and  one  afternoon  she  resolved  to 
question  her  daughter. 

"Now  you  must  tell  me  what's  the  matter  with  you," 
she  said  quietly.  "Jennie,  you  must  tell  your  mother 
everything." 

Jennie,  to  whom  confession  had  seemed  impossible, 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

under  the  sympathetic  persistence  of  her  mother  broke 
down  at  last  and  made  the  fatal  confession.  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt  stood  there,  too  dumb  with  misery  to  give  vent 
to  a  word. 

"Oh!"  she  said  at  last,  a  great  wave  of  self-accusation 
sweeping  over  her,  "it  is  all  my  fault.  I  might  have 
known.  But  we'll  do  what  we  can."  She  broke  down 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

After  a  time  she  went  back  to  the  washing  she  had  to 
do,  and  stood  over  her  tub  rubbing  and  crying.  The 
tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  and  dropped  into  the  suds. 
Once  in  a  while  she  stopped  and  tried  to  dry  her  eyes 
with  her  apron,  but  they  soon  filled  again. 

Now  that  the  first  shock  had  passed,  there  came 
the  vivid  consciousness  of  ever-present  danger.  What 
would  Gerhardt  do  if  he  learned  the  truth?  He  had 
often  said  that  if  ever  one  of  his  daughters  should  act  like 
some  of  those  he  knew  he  would  turn  her  out  of  doors. 
"  She  should  not  stay  under  my  roof!"  he  had  exclaimed. 

"I'm  so  afraid  of  your  father,"  Mrs.  Gerhardt  often 
said  to  Jennie  in  this  intermediate  period.  "I  don't 
know  what  he'll  say." 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  away,"  suggested  her  daughter. 

"No,"  she  said;  "he  needn't  know  just  yet.  Wait 
awhile."  But  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  knew  that  the 
evil  day  could  not  be  long  postponed. 

One  day,  when  her  own  suspense  had  reached  such  a 
pitch  that  it  could  no  longer  be  endured,  Mrs.  Gerhardt 
sent  Jennie  away  with  the  children,  hoping  to  be  able 
to  tell  her  husband  before  they  returned.  All  the  morn- 
ing she  fidgeted  about,  dreading  the  opportune  moment 
and  letting  him  retire  to  his  slumber  without  speaking. 
When  afternoon  came  she  did  not  go  out  to  work,  because 
she  could  not  leave  with  her  painful  duty  unfulfilled. 
Gerhardt  arose  at  four,  and  still  she  hesitated,  knowing 
full  well  that  Jennie  would  soon  return  and  that  the 
specially  prepared  occasion  would  then  be  lost.  It  is 

86 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

almost  certain  that  she  would  not  have  had  the  courage 
to  say  anything  if  he  himself  had  not  brought  up  the 
subject  of  Jennie's  appearance. 

" She  doesn't  look  well,"  he  said.  "There  seems  to  be 
something  the  matter  with  her." 

"Oh,"  began  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  visibly  struggling  with 
her  fears,  and  moved  to  make  an  end  of  it  at  any 
cost,  "Jennie  is  in  trouble.  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
She—" 

Gerhardt,  who  had  unscrewed  a  door-lock  and  was 
trying  to  mend  it,  looked  up  sharply  from  his  work. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  had  her  apron  in  her  hands  at  the  time, 
her  nervous  tendency  to  roll  it  coming  upon  her.  She 
tried  to  summon  sufficient  courage  to  explain,  but  fear 
mastered  her  completely;  she  lifted  the  apron  to  her 
eyes  and  began  to  cry. 

Gerhardt  looked  at  her  and  rose.  He  was  a  man  with 
the  Calvin  type  of  face,  rather  spare,  with  skin  sallow 
and  discolored  as  the  result  of  age  and  work  in  the  wind 
and  rain.  When  he  was  surprised  or  angry  sparks  of 
light  glittered  in  his  eyes.  He  frequently  pushed  his 
hair  back  when  he  was  troubled,  and  almost  invariably 
walked  the  floor;  just  now  he  looked  alert  and  dan- 
gerous. 

"What  is  that  you  say?"  he  inquired  in  German, 
his  voice  straining  to  a  hard  note.  "In  trouble — has 
some  one — "  He  paused  and  flung  his  hand  upward. 
"Why  don't  you  speak?"  he  demanded. 

"I  never  thought,"  went  on  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  frightened, 
and  yet  following  her  own  train  of  thought,  "that  any- 
thing like  that  would  happen  to  her.  She  was  such  a 
good  girl.  Oh!"  she  concluded,  "to  think  he  should 
ruin  Jennie." 

"By  thunder!"  shouted  Gerhardt,  giving  way  to  a 
fury  of  feeling,  "I  thought  so!  Brander!  Ha!  Your 
fine  man !  That  comes  of  letting  her  go  running  around 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

at  nights,  buggy-riding,  walking  the  streets.  I  thought 
so.  God  in  heaven ! — ' ' 

He  broke  from  his  dramatic  attitude  and  struck  out  in 
a  fierce  stride  across  the  narrow  chamber,  turning  like  a 
caged  animal. 

" Ruined!"  he  exclaimed.  " Ruined!  Ha!  So  he  has 
ruined  her,  has  he?" 

Suddenly  he  stopped  like  an  image  jerked  by  a  string. 
He  was  directly  in  front  of  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  who  had  re- 
tired to  the  table  at  the  side  of  the  wall,  and  was  standing 
there  pale  with  fear. 

"He  is  dead  now!"  he  shouted,  as  if  this  fact  had  now 
first  occurred  to  him.  "He  is  dead!" 

He  put  both  hands  to  his  temples,  as  if  he  feared  his 
brain  would  give  way,  and  stood  looking  at  her,  the 
mocking  irony  of  the  situation  seeming  to  burn  in  his 
brain  like  fire. 

"Dead!"  he  repeated,  and  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  fearing  for 
the  reason  of  the  man,  shrank  still  farther  away,  her  wits 
taken  up  rather  with  the  tragedy  of  the  figure  he  pre- 
sented than  with  the  actual  substance  of  his  woe. 

"He  intended  to  marry  her,"  she  pleaded  nervously. 
"He  would  have  married  her  if  he  had  not  died." 

"Would  have!"  shouted  Gerhardt,  coming  out  of  his 
trance  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  "  Would  have !  That's 
a  fine  thing  to  talk  about  now.  Would  have!  The 
hound!  May  his  soul  burn  in  hell — the  dog!  Ah,  God, 
I  hope — I  hope —  If  I  were  not  a  Christian — "  He 
clenched  his  hands,  the  awfulness  of  his  passion  shaking 
him  like  a  leaf. 

„  Mrs.  Gerhardt  burst  into  tears,  and  her  husband 
turned  away,  his  own  feelings  far  too  intense  for  him  to 
have  any  sympathy  with  her.  He  walked  to  and  fro, 
his  heavy  step  shaking  the  kitchen  floor.  After  a  time  he 
came  back,  a  new  phase  of  the  dread  calamity  having 
offered  itself  to  his  mind. 

"When  did  this  happen?"  he  demanded. 

88 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  too  terror- 
stricken  to  tell  the  truth.  "  I  only  found  it  out  the  other 
day." 

"You  lie!"  he  exclaimed  in  his  excitement.  "You 
were  always  shielding  her.  It  is  your  fault  that  she  is 
where  she  is.  If  you  had  let  me  have  my  way  there 
would  have  been  no  cause  for  our  trouble  to-night. 

"A  fine  ending,"  he  went  on  to  himself.  "A  fine  end- 
ing. My  boy  gets  into  jail;  my  daughter  walks  the 
streets  and  gets  herself  talked  about;  the  neighbors 
come  to  me  with  open  remarks  about  my  children;  and 
now  this  scoundrel  ruins  her.  By  the  God  in  heaven, 
I  don't  know  what  has  got  into  my  children ! 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  he  went  on,  unconsciously 
commiserating  himself .  "I  try,  I  try!  Every  night  I 
pray  that  the  Lord  will  let  me  do  right,  but  it  is  no  use. 
I  might  work  and  work.  My  hands — look  at  them — 
are  rough  with  work.  All  my  life  I  have  tried  to  be  an 
honest  man.  Now — now — "  His  voice  broke,  and  it 
seemed  for  a  moment  as  if  he  would  give  way  to  tears. 
Suddenly  he  turned  on  his  wife,  the  major  passion  of 
anger  possessing  him. 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  this,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  are 
the  sole  cause.  If  you  had  done  as  I  told  you  to  do  this 
would  not  have  happened.  No,  you  wouldn't  do  that. 
She  must  go  out !  out ! !  out ! ! !  She  has  become  a  street- 
walker, that's  what  she  has  become.  She  has  set  herself 
right  to  go  to  hell.  Let  her  go.  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  thing.  This  is  enough  for  me." 

He  made  as  if  to  go  off  to  his  little  bedroom,  but  he 
had  no  sooner  reached  the  door  than  he  came  back. 

"She  shall  get  out!"  he  said  electrically.  "She  shall 
not  stay  under  my  roof!  To-night!  At  once!  I  will 
not  let  her  enter  my  door  again.  I  will  show  her  whether 
she  will  disgrace  me  or  not!" 

"You  mustn't  turn  her  out  on  the  streets  to-night," 
pleaded  Mrs.  Gerhardt.  "She  has  no  place  to  go." 

89 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"To-night!"  he  repeated.  "This  very  minute!  Let 
her  find  a  home.  She  did  not  want  this  one.  Let  her 
get  out  now.  We  will  see  how  the  world  treats  her." 
He  walked  out  of  the  room,  inflexible  resolution  fixed 
upon  his  rugged  features. 

At  half -past  five,  when  Mrs.  Gerhardt  was  tearfully 
going  about  the  duty  of  getting  supper,  Jennie  returned. 
Her  mother  started  when  she  heard  the  door  open,  for 
now  she  knew  the  storm  would  burst  afresh.  Her  father 
met  her  on  the  threshold. 

"  Get  out  of  my  sight !"  he  said  savagely.  "  You  shall 
not  stay  another  hour  in  my  house.  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  any  more.  Get  out!" 

Jennie  stood  before  him,  pale,  trembling  a  little,  and 
silent.  The  children  she  had  brought  home  with  her 
crowded  about  in  frightened  amazement.  Veronica  and 
Martha,  who  loved  her  dearly,  began  to  cry. 

"What's  the  matter?"  George  asked,  his  mouth  open 
in  wonder. 

"She  shall  get  out,"  reiterated  Gerhardt.  "I  don't 
want  her  under  my  roof.  If  she  wants  to  be  a  street- 
walker, let  her  be  one,  but  she  shall  not  stay  here.  Pack 
your  things,"  he  added,  staring  at  her. 

Jennie  had  no  word  to  say,  but  the  children  cried 
loudly. 

"Be  still,"  said  Gerhardt.     "Go  into  the  kitchen." 

He  drove  them  all  out  and  followed  stubbornly  him- 
self. 

Jennie  went  quietly  to  her  room.  She  gathered  up  her 
few  little  belongings  and  began,  with  tears,  to  put  them 
into  a  valise  her  mother  brought  her.  The  little  girlish 
trinkets  that  she  had  accumulated  from  time  to  time 
she  did  not  take.  She  saw  them,  but  thought  of  her 
younger  sisters,  and  let  them  stay.  Martha  and  Veronica 
would  have  assisted  her,  but  their  father  forbade  them 
to  go. 

At  six  o'clock  Bass  came  in,  and  seeing  the  nervous 

90 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

assembly  in   the    kitchen,   inquired  what   the   trouble 
was. 

Gerhardt  looked  at  him  grimly,  but  did  not  answer. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  insisted  Bass.  "What  are 
you  all  sitting  around  for?" 

"  He  is  driving  Jennie  away,"  whispered  Mrs.  Gerhardt 
tearfully. 

"What  for?"  asked  Bass,  opening  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"I  shall  tell  you  what  for,"  broke  in  Gerhardt,  still 
speaking  in  German.  "Because  she's  a  street-walker, 
that's  what  for.  She  goes  and  gets  herself  ruined  by  a 
man  thirty  years  older  than  she  is,  a  man  old  enough  to 
be  her  father.  Let  her  get  out  of  this.  She  shall  not 
stay  here  another  minute." 

Bass  looked  about  him,  and  the  children  opened  their 
eyes.  All  felt  clearly  that  something  terrible  had  hap- 
pened, even  the  little  ones.  None  but  Bass  under- 
stood. 

"What  do  you  want  to  send  her  out  to-night  for?"  he 
inquired.  "This  is  no  time  to  send  a  girl  out  on  the 
streets.  Can't  she  stay  here  until  morning?" 

"No,"  said  Gerhardt. 

"  He  oughtn't  to  do  that,"  put  in  the  mother. 

"She  goes  now,"  said  Gerhardt.  "Let  that  be  an 
end  of  it." 

"Where  is  she  going  to  go?"  insisted  Bass. 

"I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Gerhardt  interpolated  weakly. 

Bass  looked  around,  but  did  nothing  until  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt motioned  him  toward  the  front  door  when  her 
husband  was  not  looking. 

"Go  in!     Go  in!"  was  the  import  of  her  gesture. 

Bass  went  in,  and  then  Mrs.  Gerhardt  dared  to  leave 
her  work  and  follow.  The  children  stayed  awhile,  but, 
one  by  one,  even  they  slipped  away,  leaving  Gerhardt 
alone.  When  he  thought  that  time  enough  had  elapsed 
he  arose. 

91 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

In  the  interval  Jennie  had  been  hastily  coached  by  her 
mother. 

Jennie  should  go  to  a  private  boarding-house  some- 
where, and  send  back  her  address.  Bass  should  not 
accompany  her,  but  she  should  wait  a  little  way  up  the 
street,  and  he  would  follow.  When  her  father  was  away 
the  mother  might  get  to  see  her,  or  Jennie  could  come 
home.  All  else  must  be  postponed  until  they  could 
meet  again. 

While  the  discussion  was  still  going  on,  Gerhardt  came 
in. 

"Is  she  going?"  he  asked  harshly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  with  her  first  and 
only  note  of  defiance. 

Bass  said,  "What's  the  hurry?"  But  Gerhardt 
frowned  too  mightily  for  him  to  venture  on  any  further 
remonstrance. 

Jennie  entered,  wearing  her  one  good  dress  and  carry- 
ing her  valise.  There  was  fear  in  her  eyes,  for  she  was 
passing  through  a  fiery  ordeal,  but  she  had  become  a 
woman.  The  strength  of  love  was  with  her,  the  support 
of  patience  and  the  ruling  sweetness  of  sacrifice.  Silently 
she  kissed  her  mother,  while  tears  fell  fast.  Then  she 
turned,  and  the  door  closed  upon  her  as  she  went  forth  to 
a  new  life. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  world  into  which  Jennie  was  thus  unduly  thrust 
forth  was  that  in  which  virtue  has  always  vainly 
struggled  since  time  immemorial ;  for  virtue  is  the  wish- 
ing well  and  the  doing  well  unto  others.  Virtue  is  that 
quality  of  generosity  which  offers  itself  willingly  for  an- 
other's service,  and,  being  this,  it  is  held  by  society  to  be 
nearly  worthless.  Sell  yourself  cheaply  and  you  shall  be 
used  lightly  and  trampled  under  foot.  Hold  yourself 
dearly,  however  unworthily,  and  you  will  be  respected. 
Society,  in  the  mass,  lacks  woefully  in  the  matter  of 
discrimination.  Its  one  criterion  is  the  opinion  of  others. 
Its  one  test  that  of  self-preservation.  Has  he  preserved 
his  fortune?  Has  she  preserved  her  purity?  Only  in 
rare  instances  and  with  rare  individuals  does  there  seem 
to  be  any  guiding  light  from  within. 

Jennie  had  not  sought  to  hold  herself  dear.  Innate 
feeling  in  her  made  for  self-sacrifice.  She  could  not  be 
readily  corrupted  by  the  world's  selfish  lessons  on  how  to 
preserve  oneself  from  the  evil  to  come. 

It  is  in  such  supreme  moments  that  growth  is  greatest. 
It  comes  as  with  a  vast  surge,  this  feeling  of  strength  and 
sufficiency.  We  may  still  tremble,  the  fear  of  doing 
wretchedly  may  linger,  but  we  grow.  Flashes  of  in- 
spiration come  to  guide  the  soul.  In  nature  there  is  no 
outside.  When  we  are  cast  from  a  group  or  a  condition 
we  have  still  the  companionship  of  all  that  is.  Nature 
is  not  ungenerous.  Its  winds  and  stars  are  fellows  with 
you.  Let  the  soul  be  but  gentle  and  receptive,  and  this 
vast  truth  will  come  home — not  in  set  phrases,  perhaps, 

93 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

but  as  a  feeling,  a  comfort,  which,  after  all,  is  the  last 
essence  of  knowledge.  In  the  universe  peace  is  wisdom. 

Jennie  had  hardly  turned  from  the  door  when  she  was 
overtaken  by  Bass.  "Give  me  your  grip,"  he  said;  and 
then  seeing  that  she  was  dumb  with  unutterable  feeling, 
he  added,  "I  think  I  know  where  I  can  get  you  a 
room." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  southern  part  of  the  city,  where 
they  were  not  known,  and  up  to  the  door  of  an  old  lady 
whose  parlor  clock  had  been  recently  purchased  from 
the  instalment  firm  by  whom  he  was  now  employed. 
She  was  not  well  off,  he  knew,  and  had  a  room  to  rent. 

"  Is  that  room  of  yours  still  vacant  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  looking  at  Jennie. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  my  sister  have  it.  We're  moving 
away,  and  she  can't  go  yet." 

The  old  lady  expressed  her  willingness,  and  Jennie  was 
soon  temporarily  installed. 

"Don't  worry  now,"  said  Bass,  who  felt  rather  sorry 
for  her.  "This'll  blow  over.  Ma  said  I  should  tell  you 
not  to  worry.  Come  up  to-morrow  when  he's  gone." 

Jennie  said  she  would,  and,  after  giving  her  further 
oral  encouragement,  he  arranged  with  the  old  lady  about 
board,  and  took  his  leave. 

"It's  all  right  now,"  he  said  encouragingly  as  he  went 
out.  "You'll  come  out  all  right.  Don't  worry.  I've 
got  to  go  back,  but  I'll  come  around  in  the  morning." 

He  went  away,  and  the  bitter  stress  of  it  blew  lightly 
over  his  head,  for  he  was  thinking  that  Jennie  had  made  a 
mistake.  This  was  shown  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  asked  her  questions  as  they  had  walked  together, 
and  that  in  the  face  of  her  sad  and  doubtful  mood. 

"What'd  you  want  to  do  that  for?"  and  "Didn't  you 
ever  think  what  you  were  doing?"  he  persisted. 

"Please  don't  ask  me  to-night,"  Jennie  had  said, 
which  put  an  end  to  the  sharpest  form  of  his  queries. 
She  had  no  excuse  to  offer  and  no  complaint  to  make. 

Q4 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

If  any  blame  attached,  very  likely  it  was  hers.  His  own 
misfortune  and  the  family's  and  her  sacrifice  were  alike 
forgotten. 

Left  alone  in  her  strange  abode,  Jennie  gave  way  to  her 
saddened  feelings.  The  shock  and  shame  of  being  ban- 
ished from  her  home  overcame  her,  and  she  wept.  Al- 
though of  a  naturally  long-suffering  and  uncomplaining 
disposition,  the  catastrophic  wind-up  of  all  her  hopes  was 
too  much  for  her.  What  was  this  element  in  life  that 
could  seize  and  overwhelm  one  as  does  a  great  wind? 
Why  this  sudden  intrusion  of  death  to  shatter  all  that 
had  seemed  most  promising  in  life  ? 

As  she  thought  over  the  past,  a  very  clear  recollection 
of  the  details  of  her  long  relationship  with  Brander  came 
back  to  her,  and  for  all  her  suffering  she  could  only  feel  a 
loving  affection  for  him.  After  all,  he  had  not  deliber- 
ately willed  her  any  harm.  His  kindness,  his  generosity 
— these  things  had  been  real.  He  had  been  essentially  a 
good  man,  and  she  was  sorry — more  for  his  sake  than  for 
her  own — that  his  end  had  been  so  untimely. 

These  cogitations,  while  not  at  all  reassuring,  at  least 
served  to  pass  the  night  away,  and  the  next  morning 
Bass  stopped  on  his  way  to  work  to  say  that  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt  wished  her  to  come  home  that  same  evening.  Ger- 
hardt  would  not  be  present,  and  they  could  talk  it  over. 
She  spent  the  day  lonesomely  enough,  but  when  night 
fell  her  spirits  brightened,  and  at  a  quarter  of  eight  she 
set  out. 

There  was  not  much  of  comforting  news  to  tell  her. 
Gerhardt  was  still  in  a  direfully  angry  and  outraged 
mood.  He  had  already  decided  to  throw  up  his  place  on 
the  following  Saturday  and  go  to  Youngstown.  Any 
place  was  better  than  Columbus  after  this;  he  could 
never  expect  to  hold  up  his  head  here  again.  Its  memo- 
ries were  odious.  He  would  go  away  now,  and  if  he 
succeeded  in  finding  work  the  family  should  follow,  a 
decision  which  meant  the  abandoning  of  the  little  home. 

95 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

He  was  not  going  to  try  to  meet  the  mortgage  on  the 
house — he  could  not  hope  to. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Gerhardt  took  his  leave,  Jennie 
returned  home,  and  for  a  time  at  least  there  was  a  restora- 
tion of  the  old  order,  a  condition  which,  of  course,  could 
not  endure. 

Bass  saw  it.  Jennie's  trouble  and  its  possible  conse- 
quences weighed  upon  him  disagreeably.  Columbus 
was  no  place  to  stay.  Youngstown  was  no  place  to  go. 
If  they  should  all  move  away  to  some  larger  city  it  would 
be  much  better. 

He  pondered  over  the  situation,  and  hearing  that  a 
manufacturing  boom  was  on  in  Cleveland,  he  thought  it 
might  be  wise  to  try  his  luck  there.  If  he  succeeded, 
the  others  might  follow.  If  Gerhardt  still  worked  on  in 
Youngstown,  as  he  was  now  doing,  and  the  family  came 
to  Cleveland,  it  would  save  Jennie  from  being  turned 
out  in  the  streets. 

Bass  waited  a  little  while  before  making  up  his  mind, 
but  finally  announced  his  purpose. 

"I  believe  I'll  go  up  to  Cleveland,"  he  said  to  his 
mother  one  evening  as  she  was  getting  supper. 

"Why?"  she  asked,  looking  up  uncertainly.  She  was 
rather  afraid  that  Bass  would  desert  her. 

"I  think  I  can  get  work  there,"  he  returned.  "We 
oughtn't  to  stay  in  this  darned  old  town." 

"Don't  swear,"  she  returned  reprovingly. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  he  said,  "but  it's  enough  to  make  any 
one  swear.  We've  never  had  anything  but  rotten  luck 
here.  I'm  going  to  go,  and  maybe  if  I  get  anything  we 
can  all  move.  We'd  be  better  off  if  we'd  get  some  place 
where  people  don't  know  us.  We  can't  be  anything 
here." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  listened  with  a  strong  hope  for  a  better- 
ment of  their  miserable  life  creeping  into  her  heart.  If 
Bass  would  only  do  this.  If  he  would  go  and  get  work, 
and  come  to  her  rescue,  as  a  strong  bright  young  son 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

might,  what  a  thing  it  would  be!  They  were  in  the 
rapids  of  a  life  which  was  moving  toward  a  dreadful 
calamity.  If  only  something  would  happen. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  get  something  to  do?"  she 
asked  interestedly. 

"  I  ought  to,"  he  said.  "  I've  never  looked  for  a  place 
yet  that  I  didn't  get  it.  Other  fellows  have  gone  up 
there  and  done  all  right.  Look  at  the  Millers." 

He  shoved  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  looked  out 
the  window. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  get  along  until  I  try  my 
hand  up  there?"  he  asked. 

"I  guess  we  could,"  she  replied.  "Papa's  at  work 
now  and  we  have  some  money  that,  that — "  she  hesitated, 
to  name  the  source,  so  ashamed  was  she  of  their  predica- 
ment. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Bass,  grimly. 

"We  won't  have  to  pay  any  rent  here  before  fall  and 
then  we'll  have  to  give  it  up  anyhow,"  she  added. 

She  was  referring  to  the  mortgage  on  the  house,  which 
fell  due  the  next  September  and  which  unquestionably 
could  not  be  met.  "  If  we  could  move  away  from  here 
before  then,  I  guess  we  could  get  along." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  Bass  determinedly.     "  I'll  go." 

Accordingly,  he  threw  up  his  place  at  the  end  of  the 
month,  and  the  day  after  he  left  for  Cleveland. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  incidents  of  the  days  that  followed,  relating  as 
they  did  peculiarly  to  Jennie,  were  of  an  order 
which  the  morality  of  our  day  has  agreed  to  taboo. 

Certain  processes  of  the  all-mother,  the  great  artificing 
wisdom  of  the  power  that  works  and  weaves  in  silence 
and  in  darkness,  when  viewed  in  the  light  of  the  estab- 
lished opinion  of  some  of  the  little  individuals  created  by 
it,  are  considered  very  vile.  We  turn  our  faces  away 
from  the  creation  of  life  as  if  that  were  the  last  thing  that 
man  should  dare  to  interest  himself  in,  openly. 

It  is  curious  that  a  feeling  of  this  sort  should  spring  up 
in  a  world  whose  very  essence  is  generative,  the  vast 
process  dual,  and  where  wind,  water,  soil,  and  light  alike 
minister  to  the  fruition  of  that  which  is  all  that  we  are. 
Although  the  whole  earth,  not  we  alone,  is  moved  by 
passions  hymeneal,  and  everything  terrestrial  has  come 
into  being  by  the  one  common  road,  yet  there  is  that 
ridiculous  tendency  to  close  the  eyes  and  turn  away  the 
head  as  if  there  were  something  unclean  in  nature  itself. 
"Conceived  in  iniquity  and  born  in  sin,"  is  the  unnatural 
interpretation  put  upon  the  process  by  the  extreme 
religionist,  and  the  world,  by  its  silence,  gives  assent  to  a 
judgment  so  marvelously  warped. 

Surely  there  is  something  radically  wrong  in  this 
attitude.  The  teachings  of  philosophy  and  the  deduc- 
tions of  biology  should  find  more  practical  application  in 
the  daily  reasoning  of  man.  No  process  is  vile,  no  con- 
dition is  unnatural.  The  accidental  variation  from  a 
given  social  practice  does  not  necessarily  entail  sin.  No 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

poor  little  earthling,  caught  in  the  enormous  grip  of 
chance,  and  so  swerved  from  the  established  customs  of 
men,  could  possibly  be  guilty  of  that  depth  of  vileness 
which  the  attitude  of  the  world  would  seem  to  predicate 
so  inevitably. 

Jennie  was  now  to  witness  the  unjust  interpretation  of 
that  wonder  of  nature,  which,  but  for  Brander's  death, 
might  have  been  consecrated  and  hallowed  as  one  of  the 
ideal  functions  of  life.  Although  herself  unable  to  dis- 
tinguish the  separateness  of  this  from  every  other  normal 
process  of  life,  yet  was  she  made  to  feel,  by  the  actions  of 
all  about  her,  that  degradation  was  her  portion  and  sin  the 
foundation  as  well  as  the  condition  of  her  state.  Almost, 
not  quite,  it  was  sought  to  extinguish  the  affection,  the 
consideration,  the  care  which,  afterward,  the  world  would 
demand  of  her,  for  her  child.  Almost,  not  quite,  was  the 
budding  and  essential  love  looked  upon  as  evil.  Al- 
though her  punishment  was  neither  the  gibbet  nor  the 
jail  of  a  few  hundred  years  before,  yet  the  ignorance  and 
immobility  of  the  human  beings  about  her  made  it  im- 
possible for  them  to  see  anything  in  her  present  condition 
but  a  vile  and  premeditated  infraction  of  the  social  code, 
the  punishment  of  which  was  ostracism.  All  she  could 
do  now  was  to  shun  the  scornful  gaze  of  men,  and  to  bear 
in  silence  the  great  change  that  was  coming  upon  her. 
Strangely  enough,  she  felt  no  useless  remorse,  no  vain 
regrets.  Her  heart  was  pure,  and  she  was  conscious  that 
it  was  filled  with  peace.  Sorrow  there  was,  it  is  true,  but 
only  a  mellow  phase  of  it,  a  vague  uncertainty  and  won- 
der, which  would  sometimes  cause  her  eyes  to  fill  with  tears. 

You  have  heard  the  wood-dove  calling  in  the  lone  still- 
ness of  the  summertime;  you  have  found  the  unheeded 
brooklet  singing  and  babbling  where  no  ear  comes  to 
hear.  Under  dead  leaves  and  snow-banks  the  delicate 
arbutus  unfolds  its  simple  blossom,  answering  some 
heavenly  call  for  color.  So,  too,  this  other  flower  of 
womanhood. 

8  q9 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

Jennie  was  left  alone,  but,  like  the  wood-dove,  she  was  a 
voice  of  sweetness  in  the  summer-time.  Going  about  her 
household  duties,  she  was  content  to  wait,  without  a 
murmur,  the  fulfilment  of  that  process  for  which,  after 
all,  she  was  but  the  sacrificial  implement.  When  her 
duties  were  lightest  she  was  content  to  sit  in  quiet 
meditation,  the  marvel  of  life  holding  her  as  in  a  trance. 
When  she  was  hardest  pressed  to  aid  her  mother,  she 
would  sometimes  find  herself  quietly  singing,  the  pleasure 
of  work  lifting  her  out  of  herself.  Always  she  was  con- 
tent to  face  the  future  with  a  serene  and  unfaltering  cour- 
age. It  is  not  so  with  all  women.  Nature  is  unkind  in 
permitting  the  minor  type  to  bear  a  child  at  all.  The 
larger  natures  in  their  maturity  welcome  motherhood, 
see  in  it  the  immense  possibilities  of  racial  fulfilment,  and 
find  joy  and  satisfaction  in  being  the  hand-maiden  of  so 
immense  a  purpose. 

Jennie,  a  child  in  years,  was  potentially  a  woman 
physically  and  mentally,  but  not  yet  come  into  rounded 
conclusions  as  to  life  and  her  place  in  it.  The  great 
situation  which  had  forced  her  into  this  anomalous  posi- 
tion was  from  one  point  of  view  a  tribute  to  her  individual 
capacity.  It  proved  her  courage,  the  largeness  of  her 
sympathy,  her  willingness  to  sacrifice  for  what  she  con- 
sidered a  worthy  cause.  That  it  resulted  in  an  unex- 
pected consequence,  which  placed  upon  her  a  larger  and 
more  complicated  burden,  was  due  to  the  fact  that  her 
sense  of  self -protection  had  not  been  commensurate  with 
her  emotions.  There  were  times  when  the  prospective 
coming  of  the  child  gave  her  a  sense  of  fear  and  confusion, 
because  she  did  not  know  but  that  the  child  might 
eventually  reproach  her;  but  there  was  always  that 
saving  sense  of  eternal  justice  in  life  which  would  not 
permit  her  to  be  utterly  crushed.  To  her  way  of  think- 
ing, people  were  not  intentionally  cruel.  Vague  thoughts 
of  sympathy  and  divine  goodness  permeated  her  soul. 
Life  at  worst  or  best  was  beautiful — had  always  been  so, 

100 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

These  thoughts  did  not  come  to  her  all  at  once,  but 
through  the  months  during  which  she  watched  and 
waited.  It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  be  a  mother,  even 
under  these  untoward  conditions.  She  felt  that  she 
would  love  this  child,  would  be  a  good  mother  to  it  if  life 
permitted.  That  was  the  problem — what  would  life 
permit  ? 

There  were  many  things  to  be  done — clothes  to  be 
made;  certain  provisions  of  hygiene  and  diet  to  be 
observed.  One  of  her  fears  was  that  Gerhardt  might 
unexpectedly  return,  but  he  did  not.  The  old  family 
doctor  who  had  nursed  the  various  members  of  the 
Gerhardt  family  through  their  multitudinous  ailments — 
Doctor  Ellwanger — was  taken  into  consultation,  and  he 
gave  sound  and  practical  advice.  Despite  his  Lutheran 
upbringing,  the  practice  of  medicine  in  a  large  and  kindly 
way  had  led  him  to  the  conclusion  that  there  are  more 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamed  of  in  our 
philosophies  and  in  our  small  neighborhood  relation- 
ships. "So  it  is,"  he  observed  to  Mrs.  Gerhardt  when 
she  confided  to  him  nervously  what  the  trouble  was. 
"Well,  you  mustn't  worry.  These  things  happen  in 
more  places  than  you  think.  If  you  knew  as  much 
about  life  as  I  do,  and  about  your  neighbors,  you  would 
not  cry.  Your  girl  will  be  all  right.  She  is  very  healthy. 
She  can  go  away  somewhere  afterward,  and  people 
will  never  know.  Why  should  you  worry  about  what 
your  neighbors  think.  It  is  not  so  uncommon  as  you 
imagine." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  marveled.  He  was  such  a  wise  man. 
It  gave  her  a  little  courage.  As  for  Jennie,  she  listened  to 
his  advice  with  interest  and  without  fear.  She  wanted 
things  not  so  much  for  herself  as  for  her  child,  and  she  was 
anxious  to  do  whatever  she  was  told.  The  doctor  was 
curious  to  know  who  the  father  was;  when  informed 
he  lifted  his  eyes.  "Indeed,"  he  commented.  "That 
ought  to  be  a  bright  baby." 

101 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

There  came  the  final  hour  when  the  child  was  ushered 
into  the  world.  It  was  Doctor  Ellwanger  who  presided, 
assisted  by  the  mother,  who,  having  brought  forth  six 
herself,  knew  exactly  what  to  do.  There  was  no  diffi- 
culty, and  at  the  first  cry  of  the  new-born  infant  there 
awakened  in  Jennie  a  tremendous  yearning  toward  it. 
This  was  her  child!  It  was  weak  and  feeble — a  little 
girl,  and  it  needed  her  care.  She  took  it  to  her 
breast,  when  it  had  been  bathed  and  swaddled,  with  a 
tremendous  sense  of  satisfaction  and  joy.  This  was  her 
child,  her  little  girl.  She  wanted  to  live  to  be  able  to 
work  for  it,  and  rejoiced,  even  in  her  weakness,  that  she 
was  so  strong.  Doctor  Ellwanger  predicted  a  quick 
recovery.  He  thought  two  weeks  would  be  the  outside 
limit  of  her  need  to  stay  in  bed.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in 
ten  days  she  was  up  and  about,  as  vigorous  and  healthy 
as  ever.  She  had  been  born  with  strength  and  with  that 
nurturing  quality  which  makes  the  ideal  mother. 

The  great  crisis  had  passed,  and  now  life  went  on  much 
as  before.  The  children,  outside  of  Bass,  were  too  young 
to  understand  fully,  and  had  been  deceived  by  the  story 
that  Jennie  was  married  to  Senator  Brander,  who  had 
died.  They  did  not  know  that  a  child  was  coming  until 
it  was  there.  The  neighbors  were  feared  by  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt,  for  they  were  ever  watchful  and  really  knew  all. 
Jennie  would  never  have  braved  this  local  atmosphere 
except  for  the  advice  of  Bass,  who,  having  secured  a  place 
in  Cleveland  some  time  before,  had  written  that  he 
thought  when  she  was  well  enough  it  would  be  advisable 
for  the  whole  family  to  seek  a  new  start  in  Cleveland. 
Things  were  flourishing  there.  Once  away  they  would 
never  hear  of  their  present  neighbors  and  Jennie  could 
find  something  to  do.  So  she  stayed  at  home. 


CHAPTER    XII 

BASS  was  no  sooner  in  Cleveland  than  the  marvel  of 
that  growing  city  was  sufficient  to  completely 
restore  his  equanimity  of  soul  and  to  stir  up  new  illusions 
as  to  the  possibility  of  rehabilitation  for  himself  and  his 
family.  "If  only  they  could  come  here,"  he  thought. 
"  If  only  they  could  all  get  work  and  do  right."  Here 
was  no  evidence  of  any  of  their  recent  troubles,  no  ac- 
quaintances who  could  suggest  by  their  mere  presence 
the  troubles  of  the  past.  All  was  business,  all  activity. 
The  very  turning  of  the  corner  seemed  to  rid  one  of  old 
times  and  crimes.  It  was  as  if  a  new  world  existed  in 
every  block. 

He  soon  found  a  place  in  a  cigar  store,  and,  after  work- 
ing a  few  weeks,  he  began  to  write  home  the  cheering 
ideas  he  had  in  mind.  Jennie  ought  to  come  as  soon  as 
she  was  able,  and  then,  if  she  found  something  to  do, 
the  others  might  follow.  There  was  plenty  of  work  for 
girls  of  her  age.  She  could  live  in  the  same  house  with 
him  temporarily;  or  maybe  they  could  take  one  of  the 
fifteen-dollar-a-month  cottages  that  were  for  rent. 
There  were  big  general  furnishing  houses,  where  one  could 
buy  everything  needful  for  a  small  house  on  very  easy 
monthly  terms.  His  mother  could  come  and  keep  house 
for  them.  They  would  be  in  a  clean,  new  atmosphere, 
unknown  and  untalked  about.  They  could  start  life  all 
over  again;  they  could  be  decent,  honorable,  prosperous. 

Filled  with  this  hope  and  the  glamor  which  new  scenes 
and  new  environment  invariably  throw  over  the  unso- 
phisticated mind,  he  wrote  a  final  letter,  in  which  he 

103 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

suggested  that  Jennie  should  come  at  once.  This  was 
when  the  baby  was  six  months  old.  There  were  theaters 
here,  he  said,  and  beautiful  streets.  Vessels  from  the 
lakes  came  into  the  heart  of  the  city.  It  was  a  wonderful 
city,  and  growing  very  fast.  It  was  thus  that  the  new 
life  appealed  to  him. 

The  effect  which  all  this  had  upon  Mrs.  Gerhardt, 
Jennie,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  was  phenomenal.  Mrs. 
Gerhardt,  long  weighed  upon  by  the  misery  which  Jen- 
nie's error  had  entailed,  was  for  taking  measures  for 
carrying  out  this  plan  at  once.  So  buoyant  was  her 
natural  temperament  that  she  was  completely  carried 
away  by  the  glory  of  Cleveland,  and  already  saw  fulfilled 
therein  not  only  her  own  desires  for  a  nice  home,  but  the 
prosperous  advancement  of  her  children.  "Of  course 
they  could  get  work,"  she  said.  Bass  was  right.  She 
had  always  wanted  Gerhardt  to  go  to  some  large  city, 
but  he  would  not.  Now  it  was  necessary,  and  they 
would  go  and  become  better  off  than  they  ever  had  been. 

And  Gerhardt  did  take  this  view  of  the  situation.  In 
answer  to  his  wife's  letter  he  wrote  that  it  was  not  ad- 
visable for  him  to  leave  his  place,  but  if  Bass  saw  a  way 
for  them,  it  might  be  a  good  thing  to  go.  He  was  the 
more  ready  to  acquiesce  in  the  plan  for  the  simple  reason 
that  he  was  half  distracted  with  the  worry  of  supporting 
the  family  and  of  paying  the  debts  already  outstanding. 
Every  week  he  laid  by  five  dollars  out  of  his  salary,  which 
he  sent  in  the  form  of  a  postal  order  to  Mrs.  Gerhardt. 
Three  dollars  he  paid  for  board,  and  fifty  cents  he  kept 
for  spending  money,  church  dues,  a  little  tobacco  and 
occasionally  a  glass  of  beer.  Every  week  he  put  a  dollar 
and  a  half  in  a  little  iron  bank  against  a  rainy  day.  His 
room  was  a  bare  corner  in  the  topmost  loft  of  the  mill. 
To  this  he  would  ascend  after  sitting  alone  on  the  door- 
step of  the  mill  in  this  lonely,  foresaken  neighborhood, 
until  nine  o'clock  of  an  evening;  and  here,  amid  the 
odor  of  machinery  wafted  up  from  the  floor  below,  by  the 

104 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

light  of  a  single  tallow  candle,  he  would  conclude  his 
solitary  day,  reading  his  German  paper,  folding  his  hands 
and  thinking,  kneeling  by  an  open  window  in  the  shadow 
of  the  night  to  say  his  prayers,  and  silently  stretching 
himself  to  rest.  Long  were  the  days,  dreary  the  pros- 
pect. Still  he  lifted  his  hands  in  utmost  faith  to  God, 
praying  that  his  sins  might  be  forgiven  and  that  he 
might  be  vouchsafed  a  few  more  years  of  comfort  and  of 
happy  family  life. 

So  the  momentous  question  was  finally  decided.  There 
was  the  greatest  longing  and  impatience  among  the 
children,  and  Mrs.  Gerhardt  shared  their  emotions  in  a 
suppressed  way.  Jennie  was  to  go  first,  as  Bass  had 
suggested ;  later  on  they  would  all  follow. 

When  the  hour  came  for  Jennie's  departure  there  was 
great  excitement  in  the  household. 

"  How  long  you  going  to  be  'fore  you  send  for  us  ?"  was 
Martha's  inquiry,  several  times  repeated. 

"Tell  Bass  to  hurry  up,"  said  the  eager  George. 

"I  want  to  go  to  Cleveland,  I  want  to  go  to  Cleve- 
land," Veronica  was  caught  singing  to  herself. 

"Listen  to  her,"  exclaimed  George,  sarcastically. 

"Aw,  you  hush  up,"  was  her  displeased  rejoinder. 

When  the  final  hour  came,  however,  it  required  all  of 
Jennie's  strength  to  go  through  with  the  farewells. 
Though  everything  was  being  done  in  order  to  bring 
them  together  again  under  better  conditions,  she  could 
not  help  feeling  depressed.  Her  little  one,  now  six 
months  old,  was  being  left  behind.  The  great  world 
was  to  her  one  undiscovered  bourne.  It  frightened 
her. 

"You  mustn't  worry,  Ma,"  she  found  courage  enough 
to  say.  "I'll  be  all  right.  I'll  write  you  just  as  soon  as 
I  get  there.  It  won't  be  so  very  long." 

But  when  it  came  to  bending  over  her  baby  for  the 
last  time  her  courage  went  out  like  a  blown  lamp. 
Stooping  over  the  cradle  in  which  the  little  one  was  rest- 

105 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

ing,  she  looked  into  its  face  with  passionate,  motherly 
yearning. 

"  Is  it  going  to  be  a  good  little  girl  ?"  she  cooed. 

Then  she  caught  it  up  into  her  arms,  and  hugging  it 
closely  to  her  neck  and  bosom,  she  buried  her  face  against 
its  little  body.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  saw  that  she  was  trem- 
bling. 

"Come  now,"  she  said,  coaxingly,  "you  mustn't  carry 
on  so.  She  will  be  all  right  with  me.  I'll  take  care  of 
her.  If  you're  going  to  act  this  way,  you'd  better  not 
try  to  go  at  all." 

Jennie  lifted  her  head,  her  blue  eyes  wet  with  tears, 
and  handed  the  little  one  to  her  mother. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said,  half  crying,  half  smiling. 

Quickly  she  kissed  her  mother  and  the  children ;  then 
she  hurried  out. 

As  she  went  down  the  street  with  George  she  looked 
back  and  bravely  waved  her  hand.  Mrs.  Gerhardt 
responded,  noticing  how  much  more  like  a  woman  she 
looked.  It  had  been  necessary  to  invest  some  of  her 
money  in  new  clothes  to  wear  on  the  train.  She  had 
selected  a  neat,  ready-made  suit  of  brown,  which  fitted 
her  nicely.  She  wore  the  skirt  of  this  with  a  white  shirt- 
waist, and  a  sailor  hat  with  a  white  veil  wound  around  it 
in  such  fashion  that  it  could  be  easily  drawn  over  her 
face.  As  she  went  farther  and  farther  away  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt followed  her  lovingly  with  her  glance;  and  when 
she  disappeared  from  view  she  said  tenderly,  through 
her  own  tears : 

"  I'm  glad  she  looked  so  nice,  anyhow." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FYASS  met  Jennie  at  the  depot  in  Cleveland  and 
iJ  talked  hopefully  of  the  prospects.  "The  first 
thing  is  to  get  work,"  he  began,  while  the  jingling  sounds 
and  the  changing  odors •  which  the  city  thrust  upon 
her  were  confusing  and  almost  benumbing  her  senses. 
"Get  something  to  do.  It  doesn't  matter  what,  so  long 
as  you  get  something.  If  you  don't  get  more  than  three 
or  four  dollars  a  week,  it  will  pay  the  rent.  Then,  with 
what  George  can  earn,  when  he  comes,  and  what  Pop 
sends,  we  can  get  along  all  right.  It'll  be  better  than 
being  down  in  that  hole,"  he  concluded. 

"Yes,"  said  Jennie,  vaguely,  her  mind  so  hypnotized 
by  the  new  display  of  life  about  her  that  she  could  not 
bring  it  forcibly  to  bear  upon  the  topic  under  discussion. 
"  I  know  what  you  mean.  I'll  get  something." 

She  was  much  older  now,  in  understanding  if  not  in  years. 
The  ordeal  through  which  she  had  so  recently  passed  had 
aroused  in  her  a  clearer  conception  of  the  responsibilities 
of  life.  Her  mother  was  always  in  her  mind,  her  mother 
and  the  children.  In  particular  Martha  and  Veronica 
must  have  a  better  opportunity  to  do  for  themselves 
than  she  had  had.  They  should  be  dressed  better ;  they 
ought  to  be  kept  longer  in  school ;  they  must  have  more 
companionship,  more  opportunity  to  broaden  their  lives. 

Cleveland,  like  every  other  growing  city  at  this  time, 
was  crowded  with  those  who  were  seeking  employment. 
New  enterprises  were  constantly  springing  up,  but  those 
who  were  seeking  to  fulfil  the  duties  they  provided  were 
invariably  in  excess  of  the  demand.  A  stranger  coming 

107 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

to  the  city  might  walk  into  a  small  position  of  almost 
any  kind  on  the  very  day  he  arrived;  and  he  might  as 
readily  wander  in  search  of  employment  for  weeks  and 
even  months.  Bass  suggested  the  shops  and  department 
stores  as  a  first  field  in  which  to  inquire.  The  factories 
and  other  avenues  of  employment  were  to  be  her  second 
choice. 

"Don't  pass  a  place,  though,"  he  had  cautioned  her, 
"  if  you  think  there's  any  chance  of  getting  anything  to 
do.  Go  right  in." 

"What  must  I  say?"  asked  Jennie,  nervously. 

"Tell  them  you  want  work.  You  don't  care  what 
you  do  to  begin  with." 

In  compliance  with  this  advice,  Jennie  set  out  the  very 
first  day,  and  was  rewarded  by  some  very  chilly  experi- 
ences. Wherever  she  went,  no  one  seemed  to  want  any 
help.  She  applied  at  the  stores,  the  factories,  the  little 
shops  that  lined  the  outlying  thoroughfares,  but  was 
always  met  by  a  rebuff.  As  a  last  resource  she  turned 
to  housework,  although  she  had  hoped  to  avoid  that; 
and,  studying  the  want  columns,  she  selected  four  which 
seemed  more  promising  than  the  others.  To  these  she 
decided  to  apply.  One  had  already  been  filled  when 
she  arrived,  but  the  lady  who  came  to  the  door  was  so 
taken  by  her  appearance  that  she  invited  her  in  and 
questioned  her  as  to  her  ability. 

"I  wish  you  had  come  a  little  earlier,"  she  said.  "1 
like  you  better  than  I  do  the  girl  I  have  taken.  Leave 
me  your  address,  anyhow." 

Jennie  went  away,  smiling  at  her  reception.  She  was 
not  quite  so  youthful  looking  as  she  had  been  before  her 
recent  trouble,  but  the  thinner  cheeks  and  the  slightly 
deeper  eyes  added  to  the  pensiveness  and  delicacy  of  her 
countenance.  She  was  a  model  of  neatness.  Her 
clothes,  all  newly  cleaned  and  ironed  before  leaving 
home,  gave  her  a  fresh  and  inviting  appearance.  There 
was  growth  coming  to  her  in  the  matter  of  height,  but 

108 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

already  in  appearance  and  intelligence  she  looked  to  be  a 
young  woman  of  twenty.  Best  of  all,  she  was  of  that 
naturally  sunny  disposition,  which,  in  spite  of  toil  and 
privation,  kept  her  always  cheerful.  Any  one  in  need  of 
a  servant-girl  or  house  companion  would  have  been 
delighted  to  have  had  her. 

The  second  place  at  which  she  applied  was  a  large 
residence  in  Euclid  Avenue;  it  seemed  far  too  imposing 
for  anything  she  might  have  to  offer  in  the  way  of  ser- 
vices, but  having  come  so  far  she  decided  to  make  the 
attempt.  The  servant  who  met  her  at  the  door  directed 
her  to  wait  a  few  moments,  and  finally  ushered  her  into 
the  boudoir  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  on  the  second 
floor.  The  latter,  a  Mrs.  Bracebridge,  a  prepossessing 
brunette  of  the  conventionally  fashionable  type,  had  a 
keen  eye  for  feminine  values  and  was  impressed  rather 
favorably  with  Jennie.  She  talked  with  her  a  little 
while,  and  finally  decided  to  try  her  in  the  general  capac- 
ity of  maid. 

"  I  will  give  you  four  dollars  a  week,  and  you  can  sleep 
here  if  you  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Bracebridge. 

Jennie  explained  that  she  was  living  with  her  brother, 
and  would  soon  have  her  family  with  her. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  replied  her  mistress.  "Do  as  you 
like  about  that.  Only  I  expect  you  to  be  here  promptly. 

She  wished  her  to  remain  for  the  day  and  to  begin  her 
duties  at  once,  and  Jennie  agreed.  Mrs.  Bracebridge  pro- 
vided her  a  dainty  cap  and  apron,  and  then  spent  some 
little  time  in  instructing  her  in  her  duties.  Her  principal 
work  would  be  to  wait  on  her  mistress,  to  brush  her  hair 
and  to  help  her  dress.  She  was  also  to  answer  the  bell, 
wait  on  the  table  if  need  be,  and  do  any  other  errand 
which  her  mistress  might  indicate.  Mrs.  Bracebridge 
seemed  a  little  hard  and  formal  to  her  prospective  ser- 
vant, but  for  all  that  Jennie  admired  the  dash  and  go  and 
the  obvious  executive  capacity  of  her  employer. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  Jennie  was  dismissed  for 
109 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

the  day.  She  wondered  if  she  could  be  of  any  use  in 
such  a  household,  and  marveled  that  she  had  got  along 
as  well  as  she  had.  Her  mistress  had  set  her  to  cleaning 
her  jewelry  and  boudoir  ornaments  as  an  opening  task, 
and  though  she  had  worked  steadily  and  diligently,  she 
had  not  finished  by  the  time  she  left.  She  hurried 
away  to  her  brother's  apartment,  delighted  to  be  able 
to  report  that  she  had  found  a  situation.  Now  her 
mother  could  come  to  Cleveland.  Now  she  could  have 
her  baby  with  her.  Now  they  could  really  begin  that 
new  life  which  was  to  be  so  much  better  and  finer  and 
sweeter  than  anything  they  had  ever  had  before. 

At  Bass's  suggestion  Jennie  wrote  her  mother  to  come 
at  once,  and  a  week  or  so  later  a  suitable  house  was  found 
and  rented.  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  with  the  aid  of  the  children, 
packed  up  the  simple  belongings  of  the  family,  including 
a  single  vanload  of  furniture,  and  at  the  end  of  a  fort- 
night they  were  on  their  way  to  the  new  home. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  always  had  had  a  keen  desire  for  a 
really  comfortable  home.  Solid  furniture,  upholstered 
and  trimmed,  a  thick,  soft  carpet  of  some  warm,  pleasing 
color,  plenty  of  chairs,  settees,  pictures,  a  lounge,  and  a 
piano — she  had  wanted  these  nice  things  all  her  life,  but 
her  circumstances  had  never  been  good  enough  for  her 
hopes  to  be  realized.  Still  she  did  not  despair.  Some 
day,  maybe,  before  she  died  these  things  would  be  added 
to  her,  and  she  would  be  happy.  Perhaps  her  chance 
was  coming  now. 

Arrived  at  Cleveland,  this  feeling  of  optimism  was  en- 
couraged by  the  sight  of  Jennie's  heerful  face.  Bass 
assured  her  that  they  would  get  along  all  right.  He  took 
them  out  to  the  house,  and  George  was  shown  the  way  to 
go  back  to  the  depot  and  have  the  freight  looked  after. 
Mrs.  Gerhardt  had  still  fifty  dollars  left  out  of  the  money 
which  Senator  Brander  had  sent  to  Jennie,  and  with  this 
a  way  of  getting  a  little  extra  furniture  on  the  instalment 
plan  was  provided.  Bass  had  already  paid  the  first 

no 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

month's  rent,  and  Jennie  had  spent  her  evenings  for  the 
last  few  days  in  washing  the  windows  and  floors  of  this 
new  house  and  in  getting  it  into  a  state  of  perfect  cleanli- 
ness. Now,  when  the  first  night  fell,  they  had  two  new 
mattresses  and  comfortables  spread  upon  a  clean  floor; 
a  new  lamp,  purchased  from  one  of  the  nearby  stores, 
a  single  box,  borrowed  by  Jennie  from  a  grocery  store, 
for  cleaning  purposes,  upon  which  Mrs.  Gerhardt  could 
sit,  and  some  sausages  and  bread  to  stay  them  until 
morning.  They  talked  and  planned  for  the  future  until 
nine  o'clock  came,  when  all  but  Jennie  and  her  mother 
retired.  These  two  talked  on,  the  burden  of  responsi- 
bilities resting  on  the  daughter.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  had 
come  to  feel  in  a  way  dependent  upon  her. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  the  entire  cottage  was  in 
order,  with  a  half-dozen  pieces  of  new  furniture,  a  new 
carpet,  and  some  necessary  kitchen  utensils.  The  most 
disturbing  thing  was  the  need  of  a  new  cooking-stove, 
the  cost  of  which  added  greatly  to  the  bill.  The  younger 
children  were  entered  at  the  public  school,  but  it  was 
decided  that  George  must  find  some  employment.  Both 
Jennie  and  her  mother  felt  the  injustice  of  this  keenly, 
but  knew  no  way  of  preventing  the  sacrifice. 

"We  will  let  him  go  to  school  next  year  if  we  can," 
said  Jennie. 

Auspiciously  as  the  new  life  seemed  to  have  begun,  the 
closeness  with  which  their  expenses  were  matching  their 
income  was  an  ever-present  menace.  Bass,  originally 
very  generous  in  his  propositions,  soon  announced  that 
he  felt  four  dollars  a  week  for  his  room  and  board  to  be 
a  sufficient  contribution  from  himself.  Jennie  gave 
everything  she  earned,  and  protested  that  she  did  not 
stand  in  need  of  anything,  so  long  as  the  baby  was 
properly  taken  care  of.  George  secured  a  place  as  an 
overgrown  cash-boy,  and  brought  in  two  dollars  and 
fifty  cents  a  week,  all  of  which,  at  first,  he  gladly  con- 
tributed. Later  on  he  was  allowed  the  fifty  cents  for 

in 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

himself  as  being  meet  and  just.  Gerhardt,  from  his 
lonely  post  of  labor,  contributed  five  dollars  by  mail, 
always  arguing  that  a  little  money  ought  to  be  saved  in 
order  that  his  honest  debts  back  in  Columbus  might  be 
paid.  Out  of  this  total  income  of  fifteen  dollars  a  week 
all  of  these  individuals  had  to  be  fed  and  clothed,  the 
rent  paid,  coal  purchased,  and  the  regular  monthly 
instalment  of  three  dollars  paid  on  the  outstanding 
furniture  bill  of  fifty  dollars. 

How  it  was  done,  those  comfortable  individuals,  who 
frequently  discuss  the  social  aspects  of  poverty,  might 
well  trouble  to  inform  themselves.  Rent,  coal,  and  light 
alone  consumed  the  goodly  sum  of  twenty  dollars  a 
month;  food,  another  unfortunately  necessary  item, 
used  up  twenty- five  more;  clothes,  instalments,  dues, 
occasional  items  of  medicine  and  the  like,  were  met  out 
of  the  remaining  eleven  dollars — how,  the  ardent  imagina- 
tion of  the  comfortable  reader  can  guess.  It  was  done, 
however,  and  for  a  time  the  hopeful  members  con- 
sidered that  they  were  doing  fairly  well. 

During  this  period  the  little  family  presented  a  picture 
of  honorable  and  patient  toil,  which  was  interesting  to 
contemplate.  Every  day  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  who  worked 
like  a  servant  and  who  received  absolutely  no  com- 
pensation either  in  clothes,  amusements,  or  anything 
else,  arose  in  the  morning  while  the  others  slept,  and 
built  the  fire.  Then  she  took  up  the  task  of  getting  the 
breakfast.  Often  as  she  moved  about  noiselessly  in  her 
thin,  worn  slippers,  cushioned  with  pieces  of  newspaper 
to  make  them  fit,  she  looked  in  on  Jennie,  Bass,  and 
George,  wrapped  in  their  heavy  slumbers,  and  with  that 
divine  sympathy  which  is  born  in  heaven  she  wished 
that  they  did  not  need  to  rise  so  early  or  to  work  so 
hard.  Sometimes  she  would  pause  before  touching  her 
beloved  Jennie,  gaze  at  her  white  face,  so  calm  in  sleep, 
and  lament  that  life  had  not  dealt  more  kindly  with  her. 
Then  she  would  lay  her  hand  gently  upon  her  shouldef 

112 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

and  whisper,  "  Jennie,  Jennie,"  until  the  weary  sleeper 
would  wake. 

When  they  arose  breakfast  was  always  ready.  When 
they  returned  at  night  supper  was  waiting.  Each  of  the 
children  received  a  due  share  of  Mrs.  Gerhardt's  atten- 
tion. The  little  baby  was  closely  looked  after  by  her. 
She  protested  that  she  needed  neither  clothes  nor  shoes 
so  long  as  one  of  the  children  would  run  errands  for  her. 

Jennie,  of  all  the  children,  fully  understood  her  mother; 
she  alone  strove,  with  the  fullness  of  a  perfect  affection, 
to  ease  her  burden. 

"Ma,  you  let  me  do  this." 

"Now,  ma,  I'll  'tend  to  that." 

"You  go  sit  down,  ma." 

These  were  the  every-day  expressions  of  the  enduring 
affection  that  existed  between  them.  Always  there  was 
perfect  understanding  between  Jennie  and  her  mother, 
and  as  the  days  passed  this  naturally  widened  and 
deepened.  Jennie  could  not  bear  to  think  of  her  as 
being  always  confined  to  the  house.  Daily  she  thought 
as  she  worked  of  that  humble  home  where  her  mother 
was  watching  and  waiting.  How  she  longed  to  give 
her  those  comforts  which  she  had  always  craved! 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  days  spent  in  the  employ  of  the  Bracebridge 
household  were  of  a  broadening  character.  This 
great  house  was  a  school  to  Jennie,  not  only  in  the  matter 
of  dress  and  manners,  but  as  formulating  a  theory  of 
existence.  Mrs.  Bracebridge  and  her  husband  were  the 
last  word  in  the  matter  of  self-sufficiency,  taste  in  the 
matter  of  appointments,  care  in  the  matter  of  dress,  good 
form  in  the  matter  of  reception,  entertainment,  and  the 
various  usages  of  social  life.  Now  and  then,  apropos  of 
nothing  save  her  own  mood,  Mrs.  Bracebridge  would 
indicate  her  philosophy  of  life  in  an  epigram. 

"  Life  is  a  battle,  my  dear.  If  you  gain  anything  you 
will  have  to  fight  for  it." 

"In  my  judgment  it  is  silly  not  to  take  advantage  of 
any  aid  which  will  help  you  to  be  what  you  want  to  be." 
(This  while  applying  a  faint  suggestion  of  rouge.) 

"Most  people  are  born  silly.  They  are  exactly  what 
they  are  capable  of  being.  I  despise  lack  of  taste;  it 
is  the  worst  crime." 

Most  of  these  worldly-wise  counsels  were  not  given 
directly  to  Jennie.  She  overheard  them,  but  to  her 
quiet  and  reflective  mind  they  had  their  import.  Like 
seeds  fallen  upon  good  ground,  they  took  root  and  grew. 
She  began  to  get  a  faint  perception  of  hierarchies  and 
powers.  They  were  not  for  her,  perhaps,  but  they  were 
in  the  world,  and  if  fortune  were  kind  one  might  better 
one's  state.  She  worked  on,  wondering,  however,  just 
how  better  fortune  might  come  to  her.  Who  would  have 
her  to  wife  knowing  her  history?  How  could  she  ever 
explain  the  existence  of  her  child  ? 

114 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Her  child,  her  child,  the  one  transcendent,  gripping 
theme  of  joy  and  fear.  If  she  could  only  do  something 
for  it — sometime,  somehow! 

For  the  first  winter  things  went  smoothly  enough. 
By  the  closest  economy  the  children  were  clothed  and 
kept  in  school,  the  rent  paid,  and  the  instalments 
met.  Once  it  looked  as  though  there  might  be  some 
difficulty  about  the  continuance  of  the  home  life,  and 
that  was  when  Gerhardt  wrote  that  he  would  be  home 
for  Christmas.  The  mill  was  to  close  down  for  a  short 
period  at  that  time.  He  was  naturally  anxious  to  see 
what  the  new  life  of  his  family  at  Cleveland  was  like. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  would  have  welcomed  his  return  with 
unalloyed  pleasure  had  it  not  been  for  the  fear  she  enter- 
tained of  his  creating  a  scene.  Jennie  talked  it  over 
with  her  mother,  and  Mrs.  Gerhardt  in  turn  spoke  of  it 
to  Bass,  whose  advice  was  to  brave  it  out. 

" Don't  worry,"  he  said;  "he  won't  do  anything  about 
it.  I'll  talk  to  him  if  he  says  anything." 

The  scene  did  occur,  but  it  was  not  so  unpleasant  as 
Mrs.  Gerhardt  had  feared.  Gerhardt  came  home  during 
the  afternoon,  while  Bass,  Jennie,  and  George  were  at 
work.  Two  of  the  younger  children  went  to  the  train 
to  meet  him.  When  he  entered  Mrs.  Gerhardt  greeted 
him  affectionately,  but  she  trembled  for  the  discovery 
which  was  sure  to  come.  Her  suspense  was  not  for  long. 
Gerhardt  opened  the  front  bedroom  door  only  a  few 
minutes  after  he  arrived.  On  the  white  counterpane  of 
the  bed  was  a  pretty  child,  sleeping.  He  could  not  but 
know  on  the  instant  whose  it  was,  but  he  pretended 
ignorance. 

"Whose  child  is  that?"  he  questioned. 

"It's  Jennie's,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  weakly. 

"When  did  that  come  here?" 

"Not  so  very  long  ago,"  answered  the  mother,  ner- 
vously. 

"I  guess  she  is  here,  too,"  he  declared,  contemptu- 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

ously,  refusing  to  pronounce  her  name,  a  fact  which  he 
had  already  anticipated. 

"She's  working  in  a  family,"  returned  his  wife  in  a 
pleading  tone.  "She's  doing  so  well  now.  She  had  no 
place  to  go.  Let  her  alone." 

Gerhardt  had  received  a  light  since  he  had  been  away. 
Certain  inexplicable  thoughts  and  feelings  had  come  to 
him  in  his  religious  meditations.  In  his  prayers  he  had 
admitted  to  the  All-seeing  that  he  might  have  done  dif- 
ferently by  his  daughter.  Yet  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  how  to  treat  her  for  the  future.  She  had  com- 
mitted a  great  sin;  it  was  impossible  to  get  a  way  from  that. 

When  Jennie  came  home  that  night  a  meeting  was 
unavoidable.  Gerhardt  saw  her  coming,  and  pretended 
to  be  deeply  engaged  in  a  newspaper.  Mrs.  Gerhardt, 
who  had  begged  him  not  to  ignore  Jennie  entirely, 
trembled  for  fear  he  would  say  or  do  something  which 
would  hurt  her  feelings. 

"She  is  coming  now,"  she  said,  crossing  to  the  door 
of  the  front  room,  where  he  was  sitting;  but  Gerhardt 
refused  to  look  up.  "Speak  to  her,  anyhow,"  was  her 
last  appeal  before  the  door  opened;  but  he  made  no 
reply. 

When  Jennie  came  in  her  mother  whispered,  "He  is 
in  the  front  room." 

Jennie  paled,  put  her  thumb  to  her  lip  and  stood 
irresolute,  not  knowing  how  to  meet  the  situation. 

"Has  he  seen?" 

Jennie  paused  as  she  realized  from  her  mother's  face 
and  nod  that  Gerhardt  knew  of  the  child's  existence. 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt;  "it's  all  right.  He 
won't  say  anything." 

Jennie  finally  went  to  the  door,  and,  seeing  her  father, 
his  brow  wrinkled  as  if  in  serious  but  not  unkindly 
thought,  she  hesitated,  but  made  her  way  forward. 

"Papa,"  she  said,  unable  to  formulate  a  definite 
sentence. 

116 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Gerhardt  looked  up,  his  grayish-brown  eyes  a  study 
under  their  heavy  sandy  lashes.  At  the  sight  of  his 
daughter  he  weakened  internally;  but  with  the  self- 
adjusted  armor  of  resolve  about  him  he  showed  no  sign 
of  pleasure  at  seeing  her.  All  the  forces  of  his  conven- 
tional understanding  of  morality  and  his  naturally 
sympathetic  and  fatherly  disposition  were  battling  within 
him,  but,  as  in  so  many  cases  where  the  average  mind  is 
concerned,  convention  was  temporarily  the  victor. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Won't  you  forgive  me,  Papa?" 

"I  do,"  he  returned  grimly. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  stepped  forward, 
for  what  purpose  he  well  understood. 

"There,"  he  said,  pushing  her  gently  away,  as  her  lips 
barely  touched  his  grizzled  cheek. 

It  had  been  a  frigid  meeting. 

When  Jennie  went  out  into  the  kitchen  after  this  very 
trying  ordeal  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  waiting  mother 
and  tried  to  make  it  seem  as  though  all  had  been  well, 
but  her  emotional  disposition  got  the  better  of  her. 

"Did  he  make  up  to  you?"  her  mother  was  about  to 
ask ;  but  the  words  were  only  half  out  of  her  mouth  before 
her  daughter  sank  down  into  one  of  the  chairs  close  to  the 
kitchen  table  and,  laying  her  head  on  her  arm,  burst 
forth  into  soft,  convulsive,  inaudible  sobs. 

"  Now,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt.  "  There  now,  don't 
cry.  What  did  he  say?" 

It  was  some  time  before  Jennie  recovered  herself 
sufficiently  to  answer.  Her  mother  tried  to  treat  the 
situation  lightly. 

"I  wouldn't  feel  bad,"  she  said.  "He'll  get  over  it. 
It's  his  way." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  return  of  Gerhardt  brought  forward  the  child 
question  in  all  its  bearings.  He  could  not  help  con- 
sidering it  from  the  standpoint  of  a  grandparent,  partic- 
ularly since  it  was  a  human  being  possessed  of  a  soul. 
He  wondered  if  it  had  been  baptized.  Then  he  inquired. 

"No,  not  yet,"  said  his  wife,  who  had  not  forgotten 
this  duty,  but  had  been  uncertain  whether  the  little  one 
would  be  welcome  in  the  faith. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  sneered  Gerhardt,  whose  opinion 
of  his  wife's  religious  devotion  was  not  any  too  great. 
"Such  carelessness!  Such  irreligion!  That  is  a  fine 
thing." 

He  thought  it  over  a  few  moments,  and  felt  that  this 
evil  should  be  corrected  at  once. 

"It  should  be  baptized,"  he  said.  "Why  don't  she 
take  it  and  have  it  baptized?" 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  reminded  him  that  some  one  would 
have  to  stand  godfather  to  the  child,  and  there  was  no 
way  to  have  the  ceremony  performed  without  confessing 
the  fact  that  it  was  without  a  legitimate  father. 

Gerhardt  listened  to  this,  and  it  quieted  him  for  a  few 
moments,  but  his  religion  was  something  which  he 
could  not  see  put  in  the  background  by  any  such  dif- 
ficulty. How  would  the  Lord  look  upon  quibbling  like 
this  ?  It  was  not  Christian,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  attend 
to  the  matter.  It  must  be  taken,  forthwith,  to  the 
church,  Jennie,  himself,  and  his  wife  accompanying  it  as 
sponsors;  or,  if  he  did  not  choose  to  condescend  thus 
far  to  his  daughter,  he  must  see  that  it  was  baptized 

118 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

when  she  was  not  present.  He  brooded  over  this  dif- 
ficulty, and  finally  decided  that  the  ceremony  should  take 
place  on  one  of  these  week-days  between  Christmas  and 
New  Year's,  when  Jennie  would  be  at  her  work.  This 
proposal  he  broached  to  his  wife,  and,  receiving  her  ap- 
proval, he  made  his  next  announcement.  "It  has  no 
name,"  he  said. 

Jennie  and  her  mother  had  talked  over  this  very  mat- 
ter, and  Jennie  had  expressed  a  preference  for  Vesta. 
Now  her  mother  made  bold  to  suggest  it  as  her  own 
choice. 

"How  would  Vesta  do?" 

Gerhardt  heard  this  with  indifference.  Secretly  he 
had  settled  the  question  in  his  own  mind.  He  had  a 
name  in  store,  left  over  from  the  halcyon  period  of  his 
youth,  and  never  opportunely  available  in  the  case  of  his 
own  children — Wilhelmina.  Of  course  he  had  no  idea 
of  unbending  in  the  least  toward  his  small  granddaughter. 
He  merely  liked  the  name,  and  the  child  ought  to  be 
grateful  to  get  it.  With  a  far-off,  gingery  air  he  brought 
forward  this  first  offering  upon  the  altar  of  natural 
affection,  for  offering  it  was,  after  all. 

"That  is  nice,"  he  said,  forgetting  his  indifference. 
"But  how  would  Wilhelmina  do?" 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  did  not  dare  cross  him  when  he  was  thus 
unconsciously  weakening.  Her  woman's  tact  came  to 
the  rescue. 

"We  might  give  her  both  names,"  she  compromised. 

"It  makes  no  difference  to  me,"  he  replied,  drawing 
back  into  the  shell  of  opposition  from  which  he  had  been 
inadvertently  drawn.  "Just  so  she  is  baptized." 

Jennie  heard  of  this  with  pleasure,  for  she  was  anxious 
that  the  child  should  have  every  advantage,  religious  or 
otherwise,  that  it  was  possible  to  obtain.  She  took  great 
pains  to  starch  and  iron  the  clothes  it  was  to  wear  on  the 
appointed  day. 

Gerhardt  sought  out  the  minister  of  the  nearest  Lu- 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

theran  church,  a  round-headed,  thick-set  theologian  oi 
the  most  formal  type,  to  whom  he  stated  his  errand. 

"Your  grandchild?"  inquired  the  minister. 

"Yes,"  said  Gerhardt,  "her  father  is  not  here." 

"So,"  replied  the  minister,  looking  at  him  curiously. 

Gerhardt  was  not  to  be  disturbed  in  his  purpose.  He 
explained  that  he  and  his  wife  would  bring  her.  The 
minister,  realizing  the  probable  difficulty,  did  not  ques- 
tion him  further. 

"The  church  cannot  refuse  to  baptize  her  so  long  as 
you,  as  grandparent,  are  willing  to  stand  sponsor  for 
her,"  he  said. 

Gerhardt  came  away,  hurt  by  the  shadow  of  disgrace 
in  which  he  felt  himself  involved,  but  satisfied  that  he  had 
done  his  duty.  Now  he  would  take  the  child  and  have 
it  baptized,  and  when  that  was  over  his  present  respon- 
sibility would  cease. 

When  it  came  to  the  hour  of  the  baptism,  however, 
he  found  that  another  influence  was  working  to  guide 
him  into  greater  interest  and  responsibility.  The  stern 
religion  with  which  he  was  enraptured,  its  insistence 
upon  a  higher  law,  was  there,  and  he  heard  again  the 
precepts  which  had  helped  to  bind  him  to  his  own 
children. 

"Is  it  your  intention  to  educate  this  child  in  the 
knowledge  and  love  of  the  gospel?"  asked  the  black- 
gowned  minister,  as  they  stood  before  him  in  the  silent 
little  church  whither  they  had  brought  the  infant;  he 
was  reading  from  the  form  provided  for  such  occasions. 
Gerhardt  answered  "Yes,"  and  Mrs.  Gerhardt  added 
her  affirmative. 

"  Do  you  engage  to  use  all  necessary  care  and  diligence, 
by  prayerful  instruction,  admonition,  example,  and 
discipline  that  this  child  may  renounce  and  avoid  every- 
thing that  is  evil  and  that  she  may  keep  God's  will  and 
commandments  as  declared  in  His  sacred  word?" 

A  thought  flashed  through  Gerhardt 's  mind  as  the 

120 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

words  were  uttered  of  how  it  had  fared  with  his  own 
children.  They,  too,  had  been  thus  sponsored.  They 
too,  had  heard  his  solemn  pledge  to  care  for  their  spir- 
itual welfare.  He  was  silent. 

"We  do,"  prompted  the  minister. 

"We  do,"  repeated  Gerhardt  and  his  wife  weakly. 

"  Do  you  now  dedicate  this  child  by  the  rite  of  baptism 
unto  the  Lord,  who  brought  it?" 

"We  do." 

"And,  finally,  if  you  can  conscientiously  declare  before 
God  that  the  faith  to  which  you  have  assented  is  your 
faith,  and  that  the  solemn  promises  you  have  made  are 
the  serious  resolutions  of  your  heart,  please  to  announce 
the  same  in  the  presence  of  God,  by  saying  '  Yes.' " 

"Yes,"  they  replied. 

"I  baptize  thee,  Wilhelmina  Vesta,"  concluded  the 
minister,  stretching  out  his  hand  over  her,  "in  the  name 
of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
Let  us  pray." 

Gerhardt  bent  his  gray  head  and  followed  with  humble 
reverence  the  beautiful  invocation  which  followed: 

"Almighty  and  everlasting  God!  we  adore  Thee  as  the 
great  Parent  of  the  children  of  men,  as  the  Father  of  our 
spirits  and  the  Former  of  our  bodies.  We  praise  Thee 
for  giving  existence  to  this  infant  and  for  preserving  her 
until  this  day.  We  bless  Thee  that  she  is  called  to  virtue 
and  glory,  that  she  has  now  been  dedicated  to  Thee,  and 
brought  within -the  pale  of  the  Christian  Church.  We 
thank  Thee  that  by  the  Gospel  of  the  Son  she  is  furnished 
with  everything  necessary  to  her  spiritual  happiness; 
that  it  supplies  light  for  her  mind  and  comfort  for  her 
heart,  encouragement  and  power  to  discharge  her  duty, 
and  the  precious  hope  of  mercy  and  immortality  to  sus- 
tain and  make  her  faithful.  And  we  beseech  Thee,  O 
most  merciful  God,  that  this  child  may  be  enlightened 
and  sanctified  from  her  early  years  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  be  everlastingly  saved  by  Thy  mercy.  Direct  and 

121 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

bless  Thy  servants  who  are  intrusted  with  the  care  of 
her  in  the  momentous  work  of  her  education.  Inspire 
them  with  just  conception  of  the  absolute  necessity  of 
religious  instruction  and  principles.  Forbid  that  they 
should  ever  forget  that  this  offspring  belongs  to  Thee, 
and  that,  if  through  their  criminal  neglect  or  bad  ex- 
ample Thy  reasonable  creature  be  lost,  Thou  wilt  re- 
quire it  at  their  hands.  Give  them  a  deep  sense  of  the 
divinity  of  her  nature,  of  the  worth  of  her  soul,  of  the 
dangers  to  which  she  will  be  exposed,  of  the  honor  and 
felicity  to  which  she  is  capable  of  ascending  with  Thy 
blessing,  and  of  the  ruin  in  this  world  and  the  misery 
in  the  world  to  come  which  springs  from  wicked  passion 
and  conduct.  Give  them  grace  to  check  the  first  risings 
of  forbidden  inclinations  in  her  breast,  to  be  her  defense 
against  the  temptations  incident  to  childhood  and  youth, 
and,  as  she  grows  up,  to  enlarge  her  understanding  and 
to  lead  her  to  an  acquaintance  with  Thee  and  with  Jesus 
Christ,  whom  Thou  hast  sent.  Give  them  grace  to  culti- 
vate in  her  heart  a  supreme  reverence  and  love  for  Thee, 
a  grateful  attachment  to  the  Gospel  of  Thy  Son,  her 
Saviour,  a  due  regard  for  all  its  ordinances  and  institu- 
tions, a  temper  of  kindness  and  good- will  to  all  mankind, 
and  an  invincible  love  of  sincerity  and  truth.  Help  them 
to  watch  continually  over  her  with  tender  solicitude,  to 
be  studious,  that  by  their  conversation  and  deportment 
her  heart  may  not  be  corrupted,  and  at  all  times  to  set 
before  her  such  an  example  that  she  may  safely  tread 
in  their  footsteps.  If  it  please  Thee  to  prolong  her  days 
on  earth,  grant  that  she  may  prove  an  honor  and  a  com- 
fort to  her  parents  and  friends,  be  useful  in  the  world,  and 
find  in  Thy  Providence  an  unfailing  defense  and  support. 
Whether  she  live,  let  her  live  to  Thee ;  or  whether  she  die, 
let  her  die  to  Thee.  And,  at  the  great  day  of  account, 
may  she  and  her  parents  meet  each  other  with  rapture 
and  rejoice  together  in  Thy  redeeming  love,  through 
Jesus  Christ,  forever  and  ever,  Amen." 

122 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

As  this  solemn  admonition  was  read  a  feeling  of  obli- 
gation descended  upon  the  grandfather  of  this  little 
outcast;  a  feeling  that  he  was  bound  to  give  the  tiny 
creature  lying  on  his  wife's  arm  the  care  and  attention 
which  God  in  His  sacrament  had  commanded.  He 
bowed  his  head  in  utmost  reverence,  and  when  the  service 
was  concluded  and  they  left  the  silent  church  he  was 
without  words  to  express  his  feelings.  Religion  was  a 
consuming  thing  with  him.  God  was  a  person,  a 
dominant  reality.  Religion  was  not  a  thing  of  mere 
words  or  of  interesting  ideas  to  be  listened  to  on  Sunday, 
but  a  strong,  vital  expression  of  the  Divine  Will  handed 
down  from  a  time  when  men  were  in  personal  contact 
with  God.  Its  fulfilment  was  a  matter  of  joy  and  sal- 
vation with  him,  the  one  consolation  of  a  creature 
sent  to  wander  in  a  vale  whose  explanation  was  not  here 
but  in  heaven.  Slowly  Gerhardt  walked  on,  and  as  he 
brooded  on  the  words  and  the  duties  which  the  sacrament 
involved  the  shade  of  lingering  disgust  that  had  pos- 
sessed him  when  he  had  taken  the  child  to  church  dis- 
appeared and  a  feeling  of  natural  affection  took  its 
place.  However  much  the  daughter  had  sinned,  the 
infant  was  not  to  blame.  It  was  a  helpless,  puling, 
tender  thing,  demanding  his  sympathy  and  his  love. 
Gerhardt  felt  his  heart  go  out  to  the  little  child,  and 
yet  he  could  not  yield  his  position  all  in  a  moment. 

"That  is  a  nice  man,"  he  said  of  the  minister  to  his 
wife  as  they  walked  along,  rapidly  softening  in  his  con- 
ception of  his  duty. 

"Yes,  he  was,"  agreed  Mrs.  Gerhardt  timidly. 

"It's  a  good-sized  little  church,"  he  continued. 

"Yes." 

Gerhardt  looked  around  him,  at  the  street,  the  houses, 
the  show  of  brisk  life  on  this  sunshiny,  winter's  day,  and 
then  finally  at  the  child  that  his  wife  was  carrying. 

"She  must  be  heavy,"  he  said,  in  his  characteristic 
German.  "Let  me  take  her." 

123 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Mrs.  Gerhardt,  who  was  rather  weary,  did  not  refuse. 

"There!"  he  said,  as  he  looked  at  her  and  then  fixed 
her  comfortably  upon  his  shoulder.  "Let  us  hope  she 
proves  worthy  of  all  that  has  been  done  to-day." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  listened,  and  the  meaning  in  his  voice 
interpreted  itself  plainly  enough.  The  presence  of  the 
child  in  the  house  might  be  the  cause  of  recurring  spells 
of  depression  and  unkind  words,  but  there  would  be 
another  and  greater  influence  restraining  him.  There 
would  always  be  her  soul  to  consider.  He  would  never 
again  be  utterly  unconscious  of  her  soul. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DURING  the  remainder  of  Gerhardt's  stay  he  was 
shy  in  Jennie's  presence  and  endeavored  to  act  as 
though  he  were  unconscious  of  her  existence.  When 
the  time  came  for  parting  he  even  went  away  without 
bidding  her  good-by,  telling  his  wife  she  might  do  that 
for  him;  but  after  he  was  actually  on  his  way  back  to 
Youngstown  he  regretted  the  omission.  "I  might  have 
bade  her  good-by,"  he  thought  to  himself  as  the  train 
rumbled  heavily  along.  But  it  was  too  late. 

For  the  time  being  the  affairs  of  the  Gerhardt  family 
drifted.  Jennie  continued  her  work  with  Mrs.  Brace- 
bridge.  Sebastian  fixed  himself  firmly  in  his  clerkship 
in  the  cigar  store.  George  was  promoted  to  the  noble  sum 
of  three  dollars,  and  then  three-fifty.  It  was  a  narrow, 
humdrum  life  the  family  led.  Coal,  groceries,  shoes,  and 
clothing  were  the  uppermost  topics  of  their  conversation ; 
every  one  felt  the  stress  and  strain  of  trying  to  make  ends 
meet. 

That  which  worried  Jennie  most,  and  there  were  many 
things  which  weighed  upon  her  sensitive  soul,  was  the 
outcome  of  her  own  life — not  so  much  for  herself  as  for 
her  baby  and  the  family.  She  could  not  really  see  where 
she  fitted  in.  "Who  would  have  me?"  she  asked  herself 
over  and  over.  "  How  was  she  to  dispose  of  Vesta  in  the 
event  of  a  new  love  affair?"  Such  a  contingency  was 
quite  possible.  She  was  young,  good-looking,  and  men 
were  inclined  to  flirt  with  her,  or  rather  to  attempt  it. 
The  Bracebridges  entertained  many  masculine  guests, 
and  some  of  them  had  made  unpleasant  overtures  to  her. 

125 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"  My  dear,  you're  a  very  pretty  girl,"  said  one  old  rake 
of  fifty-odd  when  she  knocked  at  his  door  one  morning  to 
give  him  a  message  from  his  hostess. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  confusedly,  and 
colored. 

"  Indeed,  you're  quite  sweet.  And  you  needn't  beg  my 
pardon.  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  some  time." 

He  attempted  to  chuck  her  under  the  chin,  but  Jennie 
hurried  away.  She  would  have  reported  the  matter  to 
her  mistress  but  a  nervous  shame  deterred  her.  "Why 
would  men  always  be  doing  this?"  she  thought.  Could 
it  be  because  there  was  something  innately  bad  about 
her,  an  inward  corruption  that  attracted  its  like? 

It  is  a  curious  characteristic  of  the  non-defensive  dis- 
position that  it  is  like  a  honey- jar  to  flies.  Nothing  is 
brought  to  it  and  much  is  taken  away.  Around  a  soft, 
yielding,  unselfish  disposition  men  swarm  naturally. 
They  sense  this  generosity,  this  non-protective  attitude 
from  afar.  A  girl  like  Jennie  is  like  a  comfortable  fire 
to  the  average  masculine  mind;  they  gravitate  to  it, 
seek  its  sympathy,  yearn  to  possess  it.  Hence  she  was 
annoyed  by  many  unwelcome  attentions. 

One  day  there  arrived  from  Cincinnati  a  certain  Lester 
Kane,  the  son  of  a  wholesale  carriage  builder  of  great 
trade  distinction  in  that  city  and  elsewhere  throughout 
the  country,  who  was  wont  to  visit  this  house  fre- 
quently in  a  social  way.  He  was  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Brace- 
bridge  more  than  of  her  husband,  for  the  former  had 
been  raised  in  Cincinnati  and  as  a  girl  had  visited  at  his 
father's  house.  She  knew  his  mother,  his  brother  and 
sisters  and  to  all  intents  and  purposes  socially  had  al- 
ways been  considered  one  of  the  family. 

"  Lester 'scorning  to-morrow,  Henry,"  Jennie  heard  Mrs. 
Bracebridge  tell  her  husband.  "I  had  a  wire  from  him 
this  noon.  He's  such  a  scamp.  I'm  going  to  give  him 
the  big  east  front  room  up-stairs.  Be  sociable  and  pay 
him  some  attention.  His  father  was  so  good  to  me." 

126 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

"I  know  it,"  said  her  husband  calmly.  "I  like 
Lester.  He's  the  biggest  one  in  that  family.  But  he's 
too  indifferent.  He  doesn't  care  enough." 

"  I  know;  but  he's  so  nice.  I  do  think  he's  one  of  the 
nicest  men  I  ever  knew." 

"  I'll  be  decent  to  him.  Don't  I  always  do  pretty  well 
by  your  people?" 

"Yes,  pretty  well." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  replied,  dryly. 

When  this  notable  person  arrived  Jennie  was  prepared 
to  see  some  one  of  more  than  ordinary  importance,  and 
she  was  not  disappointed.  There  came  into  the  reception- 
hall  to  greet  her  mistress  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty-six 
years  of  age,  above  the  medium  in  height,  clear-eyed, 
firm-jawed,  athletic,  direct,  and  vigorous.  He  had  a 
deep,  resonant  voice  that  carried  clearly  everywhere; 
people  somehow  used  to  stop  and  listen  whether  they 
knew  him  or  not.  He  was  simple  and  abrupt  in  his  speech. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,"  he  began.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
again.  How's  Mr.  Bracebridge?  How's  Fannie?" 

He  asked  his  questions  forcefully,  whole-heartedly, 
and  his  hostess  answered  with  an  equal  warmth.  "I'm 
glad  to  see  you,  Lester,"  she  said.  "George  will  take 
your  things  up-stairs.  Come  up  into  my  room.  It's  more 
comfy.  How  are  grandpa  and  Louise?" 

He  followed  her  up  the  stairs,  and  Jennie,  who  had 
been  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  listening,  felt  the 
magnetic  charm  of  his  personality.  It  seemed,  why  she 
could  hardly  say,  that  a  real  personage  had  arrived. 
The  house  was  cheerier.  The  attitude  of  her  mistress 
was  much  more  complaisant.  Everybody  seemed  to 
feel  that  something  must  be  done  for  this  man. 

Jennie  went  about  her  work,  but  the  impression  per- 
sisted; his  name  ran  in  her  mind.  Lester  Kane.  And 
he  was  from  Cincinnati.  She  looked  at  him  now  and 
then  on  the  sly,  and  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  an 
interest  in  a  man  on  his  own  account.  He  was  so  big, 

127 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

/ 

so  handsome,  so  forceful.  She  wondered  what  his  busi- 
ness was.  At  the  same  time  she  felt  a  little  dread  of  him. 
Once  she  caught  him  looking  at  her  with  a  steady,  in- 
cisive stare.  She  quailed  inwardly,  and  took  the  first 
opportunity  to  get  out  of  his  presence.  Another  time 
he  tried  to  address  a  few  remarks  to  her,  but  she  pre- 
tended that  her  duties  called  her  away.  She  knew  that 
often  his  eyes  were  on  her  when  her  back  was  turned, 
and  it  made  her  nervous.  She  wanted  to  run  away  from 
him,  although  there  was  no  very  definite  reason  why  she 
should  do  so. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  man,  so  superior  to  Jennie  in 
wealth,  education,  and  social  position,  felt  an  instinctive 
interest  in  her  unusual  personality.  Like  the  others,  he 
was  attracted  by  the  peculiar  softness  of  her  disposition 
and  her  pre-eminent  femininity.  There  was  that  about 
her  which  suggested  the  luxury  of  love.  He  felt  as  if 
somehow  she  could  be  reached — why,  he  could  not  have 
said.  She  did  not  bear  any  outward  marks  of  her  pre- 
vious experience.  There  were  no  evidences  of  coquetry 
about  her,  but  still  he  "felt  that  he  might."  He  was 
inclined  to  make  the  venture  on  his  first  visit,  but  busi- 
ness called  him  away;  he  left  after  four  days  and  was 
absent  from  Cleveland  for  three  weeks.  Jennie  thought 
he  was  gone  for  good,  and  she  experienced  a  queer  sense 
of  relief  as  well  as  of  regret.  Then,  suddenly,  he  re- 
turned. He  came  apparently  unexpectedly,  explaining 
to  Mrs.  Bracebridge  that  business  interests  again  de- 
manded his  presence  in  Cleveland.  As  he  spoke  he 
looked  at  Jennie  sharply,  and  she  felt  as  if  somehow 
his  presence  might  also  concern  her  a  little. 

On  this  second  visit  she  had  various  opportunities  of 
seeing  him,  at  breakfast,  where  she  sometimes  served, 
at  dinner,  when  she  could  see  the  guests  at  the  table  from 
the  parlor  or  sitting-room,  and  at  odd  times  when  he 
came  to  Mrs.  Bracebridge 's  boudoir  to  talk  things  over. 
They  were  very  friendly. 

128 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Why  don't  you  settle  down,  Lester,  and  get  mar- 
ried?" Jennie  heard  her  say  to  him  the  second  day  he 
was  there.  "You  know  it's  time." 

"I  know,"  he  replied,  "but  I'm  in  no  mood  for  that. 
I  want  to  browse  around  a  little  while  yet." 

"Yes,  I  know  about  your  browsing.  You  ought  to> 
be  ashamed  of  yourself.  Your  father  is  really  wor- 
ried." 

He  chuckled  amusedly.  "  Father  doesn't  worry  much 
about  me.  He  has  got  all  he  can  attend  to  to  look  after 
the  business." 

Jennie  looked  at  him  curiously.  She  scarcely  under- 
stood what  she  was  thinking,  but  this  man  drew  her. 
If  she  had  realized  in  what  way  she  would  have  fled  his 
presence  then  and  there. 

Now  he  was  more  insistent  in  his  observation  of  her — 
addressed  an  occasional  remark  to  her — engaged  her  in 
brief,  magnetic  conversations.  She  could  not  help  an- 
swering him — he  was  pleasing  to  her.  Once  he  came 
across  her  in  the  hall  on  the  second  floor  searching  in  a 
locker  for  some  linen.  They  were  all  alone,  Mrs.  Brace- 
bridge  having  gone  out  to  do  some  morning  shopping  and 
the  other  servants  being  below  stairs.  On  this  occasion 
he  made  short  work  of  the  business.  He  approached  her 
in  a  commanding,  unhesitating,  and  thoroughly  deter- 
mined way. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said.  "Where  do  you 
live?" 

"I — I — "  she  stammered,  and  blanched  perceptibly. 
"  I  live  out  on  Lorrie  Street." 

"What  number?"  he  questioned,  as  though  she  were 
compelled  to  tell  him. 

She  quailed  and  shook  inwardly.  "Thirteen  four- 
teen," she  replied  mechanically. 

He  looked  into  her  big,  soft-blue  eyes  with  his  dark, 
vigorous  brown  ones.  A  flash  that  was  hypnotic,  signi- 
ficant, insistent  passed  between  them. 

129 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"  You  belong  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  looking  for 
you.  When  can  I  see  you?" 

"Oh,  you  mustn't,"  she  said,  her  fingers  going  ner- 
vously to  her  lips.  "I  can't  see  you — I — I — " 

"Oh,  I  mustn't,  mustn't  I?  Look  here"— he  took 
her  arm  and  drew  her  slightly  closer — "you  and  I  might 
as  well  understand  each  other  right  now.  I  like  you. 
Do  you  like  me?  Say?" 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  wide,  filled  with  wonder, 
with  fear,  with  a  growing  terror. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  gasped,  her  lips  dry. 

"  Do  you  ?"     He  fixed  her  grimly,  firmly  with  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Look  at  me,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

He  pulled  her  to  him  quickly.  "I'll  talk  to  you 
later,"  he  said,  and  put  his  lips  masterfully  to  hers. 

She  was  horrified,  stunned,  like  a  bird  in  the  grasp 
of  a  cat ;  but  through  it  all  something  tremendously  vital 
and  insistent  was  speaking  to  her.  He  released  her  with 
a  short  laugh.  "  We  won't  do  any  more  of  this  here,  but, 
remember,  you  belong  to  me,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  and 
walked  nonchalantly  down  the  hall.  Jennie,  in  sheer 
panic,  ran  to  her  mistress's  room  and  locked  the  door 
behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  shock  of  this  sudden  encounter  was  so  great  to 
Jennie  that  she  was  hours  in  recovering  herself. 
At  first  she  did  not  understand  clearly  just  what  had 
happened.  Out  of  clear  sky,  as  it  were,  this  astonishing 
thing  had  taken  place.  She  had  yielded  herself  to 
another  man.  Why?  Why?  she  asked  herself,  and 
yet  within  her  own  consciousness  there  was  an  answer. 
Though  she  could  not  explain  her  own  emotions,  she 
belonged  to  him  temperamentally  and  he  belonged  to 
her. 

There  is  a  fate  in  love  and  a  fate  in  fight.  This  strong, 
intellectual  bear  of  a  man,  son  of  a  wealthy  manufac- 
turer, stationed,  so  far  as  material  conditions  were  con- 
cerned, in  a  world  immensely  superior  to  that  in  which 
Jennie  moved,  was,  nevertheless,  instinctively,  mag- 
netically, and  chemically  drawn  to  this  poor  serving- 
maid.  She  was  his  natural  affinity,  though  he  did  not 
know  it — the  one  woman  who  answered  somehow  the 
biggest  need  of  his  nature.  Lester  Kane  had  known  all 
sorts  of  women,  rich  and  poor,  the  highly  bred  maidens 
of  his  own  class,  the  daughters  of  the  proletariat,  but  he 
had  never  yet  found  one  who  seemed  to  combine  for  him 
the  traits  of  an  ideal  woman — sympathy,  kindliness  of 
judgment,  youth,  and  beauty.  Yet  this  ideal  remained 
fixedly  seated  in  the  back  of  his  brain — when  the  right 
woman  appeared  he  intended  to  take  her.  He  had  the 
notion  that,  for  purposes  of  marriage,  he  ought  perhaps 
to  find  this  woman  on  his  own  plane.  For  purposes  of 
temporary  happiness  he  might  take  her  from  anywhere, 

10  131 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

leaving  marriage,  of  course,  out  of  the  question.     He 
had  no  idea  of  making  anything  like  a  serious  proposal 
to  a  servant-girl.     But  Jennie  was  different.     He  had 
never  seen  a  servant  quite  like  her.     And  she  was  lady- 
like and  lovely  without  appearing  to  know  it.     Why, 
this  girl  was  a  rare  flower.      Why  shouldn't  he  try  to 
seize  her?     Let  us  be  just  to  Lester  Kane;  let  us  try  to 
understand  him  and  his  position.     Not  every  mind  is 
to  be  estimated  by  the  weight  of  a  single  folly;  not  every 
personality  is  to  be  judged  by  the  drag  of  a  single 
passion.     We  live  in  an  age  in  which  the  impact  of 
materialized  forces  is  well-nigh  irresistible;  the  spiritual 
nature  is  overwhelmed  by  the  shock.     The  tremendous 
and  complicated  development  of  our  material  civiliza- 
tion, the  multiplicity,  and  variety  of  our  social  forms, 
the  depth,  subtlety,  and  sophistry  of  our  imaginative 
impressions,  gathered,  remultiplied,  and  disseminated  by 
such  agencies  as  the  railroad,  the  express  and  the  post- 
office,  the  telephone,  the  telegraph,  the  newspaper,  and, 
in  short,  the  whole  machinery  of  social  intercourse — these 
elements  of  existence  combine  to  produce  what  may  be 
termed  a  kaleidoscopic  glitter,  a  dazzling  and  confusing 
phantasmagoria  of  life  that  wearies  and  stultifies  the 
mental  and  moral  nature.     It  induces  a  sort  of  intel- 
lectual fatigue  through  which  we  see  the  ranks  of  the 
victims   of   insomnia,    melancholia,    and   insanity   con- 
stantly recruited.     Our  modern  brain-pan  does  not  seem 
capable  as  yet  of  receiving,   sorting,  and  storing  the 
vast  army  of  facts  and  impressions  which  present  them- 
selves daily.     The  white  light  of  publicity  is  too  white. 
We  are  weighed  upon  by  too  many  things.     It  is  as  if 
the  wisdom  of  the  infinite  were  struggling  to  beat  it- 
self into  finite  and  cup-big  minds. 

Lester  Kane  was  the  natural  product  of  these  un- 
toward conditions.  His  was  a  naturally  observing 
mind,  Rabelaisian  in  its  strength  and  tendencies,  but 
confused  by  the  multiplicity  of  things,  the  vastness  of 

132 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

the  panorama  of  life,  the  glitter  of  its  details,  the  tin- 
substantial  nature  of  its  forms,  the  uncertainty  of  their 
justification.  Born  a  Catholic,  he  was  no  longer  a 
believer  in  the  divine  inspiration  of  Catholicism;  raised 
a  member  of  the  social  elect,  he  had  ceased  to  accept  the 
fetish  that  birth  and  station  presuppose  any  innate 
superiority;  brought  up  as  the  heir  to  a  comfortable  for- 
tune and  expected  to  marry  in  his  own  sphere,  he  was  by 
no  means  sure  that  he  wanted  marriage  on  any  terms. 
Of  course  the  conjugal  state  was  an  institution.  It  was 
established.  Yes,  certainly.  But  what  of  it?  The 
whole  nation  believed  in  it.  True,  but  other  nations  be- 
lieved in  polygamy.  There  were  other  questions  that 
bothered  him — such  questions  as  the  belief  in  a  single 
deity  or  ruler  of  the  universe,  and  whether  a  republican, 
monarchial,  or  aristocratic  form  of  government  were 
best.  In  short,  the  whole  body  of  things  material,  social, 
and  spiritual  had  come  under  the  knife  of  his  mental 
surgery  and  been  left  but  half  dissected.  Life  was  not 
proved  to  him.  Not  a  single  idea  of  his,  unless  it  were 
the  need  of  being  honest,  was  finally  settled.  In  all 
other  things  he  wavered,  questioned,  procrastinated, 
leaving  to  time  and  to  the  powers  back  of  the  universe 
the  solution  of  the  problems  that  vexed  him.  Yes, 
Lester  Kane  was  the  natural  product  of  a  combination 
of  elements — religious,  commercial,  social — modified  by 
that  pervading  atmosphere  of  liberty  in  our  national  life 
which  is  productive  of  almost  uncounted  freedom  of 
thought  and  action.  Thirty-six  years  of  age,  and  ap- 
parently a  man  of  vigorous,  aggressive,  and  sound  per- 
sonality, he  was,  nevertheless,  an  essentially  animal- 
man,  pleasantly  veneered  by  education  and  environment. 
Like  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  Irishmen  who  in  his 
father's  day  had  worked  on  the  railroad  tracks,  dug  in  the 
mines,  picked  and  shoveled  in  the  ditches,  and  carried  up 
bricks  and  mortar  on  the  endless  structures  of  a  new 
land,  he  was  strong,  hairy,  axiomatic,  and  witty. 

133 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"Do  you  want  me  to  come  back  here  next  year?"  he 
had  asked  of  Brother  Ambrose,  when,  in  his  seventeenth 
year,  that  ecclesiastical  member  was  about  to  chastise 
him  for  some  school-boy  misdemeanor. 

The  other  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Your 
father  will  have  to  look  after  that,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  my  father  won't  look  after  it,"  Lester  re- 
turned. "If  you  touch  me  with  that  whip  I'll  take 
things  into  my  own  hands.  I'm  not  committing  any 
punishable  offenses,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be  knocked 
around  any  more." 

Words,  unfortunately,  did  not  avail  in  this  case,  but  a 
good,  vigorous  Irish-American  wrestle  did,  in  which  the 
whip  was  broken  and  the  discipline  of  the  school  so  far 
impaired  that  he  was  compelled  to  take  his  clothes  and 
leave.  After  that  he  looked  his  father  in  the  eye  and 
told  him  that  he  was  not  going  to  school  any  more. 

"  I'm  perfectly  willing  to  jump  in  and  work,"  he  ex- 
plained. "There's  nothing  in  a  classical  education  for 
me.  Let  me  go  into  the  office,  and  I  guess  I'll  pick  up 
enough  to  carry  me  through." 

Old  Archibald  Kane,  keen,  single-minded,  of  unsullied 
commercial  honor,  admired  his  son's  determination,  and 
did  not  attempt  to  coerce  him. 

"Come  down  to  the  office,"  he  said;  "perhaps  there 
is  something  you  can  do." 

Entering  upon  a  business  life  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
Lester  had  worked  faithfully,  rising  in  his  father's  esti- 
mation, until  now  he  had  come  to  be,  in  a  way,  his  per- 
sonal representative.  Whenever  there  was  a  contract 
to  be  entered  upon,  an  important  move  to  be  decided, 
or  a  representative  of  the  manufactory  to  be  sent  any- 
where to  consummate  a  deal,  Lester  was  the  agent 
selected.  His  father  trusted  him  implicitly,  and  so 
diplomatic  and  earnest  was  he  in  the  fulfilment  of  his 
duties  that  this  trust  had  never  been  impaired. 

"  Business  is  business,"  was  a  favorite  axiom  with  hinxc 

134 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

and  the  very  tone  in  which  he  pronounced  the  words 
was  a  reflex  of  his  character  and  personality. 

There  were  molten  forces  in  him,  flames  which  burst 
forth  now  and  then  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  sure 
that  he  had  them  under  control.  One  of  these  im- 
pulses was  a  taste  for  liquor,  of  which  he  was  perfectly 
sure  he  had  the  upper  hand.  He  drank  but  very  little, 
he  thought,  and  only,  in  a  social  way,  among  friends; 
never  to  excess.  Another  weakness  lay  in  his  sensual 
nature;  but  here  again  he  believed  that  he  was  the 
master.  If  he  chose  to  have  irregular  relations  with 
women,  he  was. capable  of  deciding  where  the  danger 
point  lay.  If  men  were  only  guided  by  a  sense  of  the 
brevity  inherent  in  all  such  relationships  there  would 
not  be  so  many  troublesome  consequences  growing  out 
of  them.  Finally,  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had  a 
grasp  upon  a  right  method  of  living,  a  method  which  was 
nothing  more  than  a  quiet  acceptance  of  social  conditions 
as  they  were,  tempered  by  a  little  personal  judgment  as 
to  the  right  and  wrong  of  individual  conduct.  Not  to 
fuss  and  fume,  not  to  cry  out  about  anything,  not  to  be 
mawkishly  sentimental ;  to  be  vigorous  and  sustain  your 
personality  intact — such  was  his  theory  of  life,  and  he 
was  satisfied  that  it  was  a  good  one. 

As  to  Jennie,  his  original  object  in  approaching 
her  had  been  purely  selfish.  But  now  that  he  had  as- 
serted his  masculine  prerogatives,  and  she  had  yielded, 
at  least  in  part,  he  began  to  realize  that  she  was  no  com- 
mon girl,  no  toy  of  the  passing  hour. 

There  is  a  time  in  some  men's  lives  when  they  uncon- 
sciously begin  to  view  feminine  youth  and  beauty  not 
so  much  in  relation  to  the  ideal  of  happiness,  but  rather 
with  regard  to  the  social  conventions  by  which  they  are 
environed. 

"  Must  it  be  ?"  they  ask  themselves,  in  speculating  con- 
cerning the  possibility  of  taking  a  maiden  to  wife,  "that 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  swallow  the  whole  social  code, 

135 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

make  a  covenant  with  society,  sign  a  pledge  of  absti- 
nence, and  give  to  another  a  life  interest  in  all  my  affairs, 
when  I  know  too  well  that  I  am  but  taking  to  my  arms 
a  variable  creature  like  myself,  whose  wishes  are  apt  to 
become  insistent  and  burdensome  in  proportion  to  the 
decrease  of  her  beauty  and  interest?"  These  are  the 
men,  who,  unwilling  to  risk  the  manifold  contingencies 
of  an  authorized  connection,  are  led  to  consider  the 
advantages  of  a  less-binding  union,  a  temporary  com- 
panionship. They  seek  to  seize  the  happiness  of  life 
without  paying  the  cost  of  their  indulgence.  Later  on, 
they  think,  the  more  definite  and  conventional  relation- 
ship may  be  established  without  reproach  or  the  neces- 
sity of  radical  readjustment. 

Lester  Kane  was  past  the  youthful  love  period,  and  he 
knew  it.  The  innocence  and  unsophistication  of  younger 
ideals  had  gone.  He  wanted  the  comfort  of  feminine 
companionship,  but  he  was  more  and  more  disin- 
clined to  give  up  his  personal  liberty  in  order  to  obtain 
it.  He  would  not  wear  the  social  shackles  if  it  were 
possible  to  satisfy  the  needs  of  his  heart  and  nature  and 
still  remain  free  and  unfettered.  Of  course  he  must  find 
the  right  woman,  and  in  Jennie  he  believed  that  he  had 
discovered  her.  She  appealed  to  him  on  every  side; 
he  had  never  known  anybody  quite  like  her.  Marriage 
was  not  only  impossible  but  unnecessary.  He  had  only 
to  say  "Come"  and  she  must  obey;  it  was  her  destiny. 

Lester  thought  the  matter  over  calmly,  dispassionately. 
He  strolled  out  to  the  shabby  street  where  she  lived ;  he 
looked  at  the  humble  roof  that  sheltered  her.  Her  pov- 
erty, her  narrow  and  straitened  environment  touched 
his  heart.  Ought  he  not  to  treat  her  generously,  fairly, 
honorably?  Then  the  remembrance  of  her  marvelous 
beauty  swept  over  him  and  changed  his  mood.  No,  he 
must  possess  her  if  he  could — to-day,  quickly,  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  was  in  that  frame  of  mind  that  he  returned 
to  Mrs.  Bracebridge's  home  from  his  visit  to  Lorrie  Street 

136 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JENNIE  was  now  going  through  the  agony  of  one 
<J  who  has  a  varied  and  complicated  problem  to  con- 
front. Her  baby,  her  father,  her  brothers,  and  sisters 
all  rose  up  to  confront  her.  What  was  this  thing  that 
she  was  doing?  Was  she  allowing  herself  to  slip  into 
another  wretched,  unsanctified  relationship?  How  was 
she  to  explain  to  her  family  about  this  man  ?  He  would 
not  marry  her,  that  was  sure,  if  he  knew  all  about  her. 
He  would  not  marry  her,  anyhow,  a  man  of  his  station 
and  position.  Yet  here  she  was  parleying  with  him. 
What  ought  she  to  do  ?  She  pondered  over  the  problem 
until  evening,  deciding  first  that  it  was  best  to  run  away, 
but  remembering  painfully  that  she  had  told  him  where 
she  lived.  Then  she  resolved  that  she  would  summon 
up  her  courage  and  refuse  him — tell  him  she  couldn't, 
wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  This  last  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulty  seemed  simple  enough — in  his 
absence.  And  she  would  find  work  where  he  could  not 
follow  her  up  so  easily.  It  all  seemed  simple  enough  as 
she  put  on  her  things  in  the  evening  to  go  home. 

Her  aggressive  lover,  however,  was  not  without  his 
own  conclusion  in  this  matter.  Since  leaving  Jennie  he 
had  thought  concisely  and  to  the  point.  He  came  to 
the  decision  that  he  must  act  at  once.  She  might  tell 
her  family,  she  might  tell  Mrs.  Bracebridge,  she  might 
leave  the  city.  He  wanted  to  know  more  of  the  condi- 
tions which  surrounded  her,  and  there  was  only  one  way 
to  do  that — talk  to  her.  He  must  persuade  her  to  come 
and  live  with  him.  She  would,  he  thought.  She  ad- 

137 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

mitted  that  she  liked  him.  That  soft,  yielding  note  in 
her  character  which  had  originally  attracted  him  seemed 
to  presage  that  he  could  win  her  without  much  difficulty, 
if  he  wished  to  try.  He  decided  to  do  so,  anyhow,  for 
truly  he  desired  her  greatly. 

At  half -past  five  he  returned  to  the  Bracebridge  home 
to  see  if  she  were  still  there .  At  six  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  say  to  her,  unobserved,  "I  am  going  to  walk 
home  with  you.  Wait  for  me  at  the  next  corner,  will 
you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  a  sense  of  compulsion  to  do  his  bid- 
ding seizing  her.  She  explained  to  herself  afterward 
that  she  ought  to  talk  to  him,  that  she  must  tell  him 
finally  of  her  decision  not  to  see  him  again,  and  this  was 
as  good  an  opportunity  as  any.  At  half-past  six  he  left 
the  house  on  a  pretext — a  forgotten  engagement — and 
a  little  after  seven  he  was  waiting  for  her  in  a  closed  car- 
riage near  the  appointed  spot.  He  was  calm,  absolutely 
satisfied  as  to  the  result,  and  curiously  elated  beneath  a 
sturdy,  shock-proof  exterior.  It  was  as  if  he  breathed 
some  fragrant  perfume,  soft,  grateful,  entrancing. 

A  few  minutes  after  eight  he  saw  Jennie  coming  along. 
The  flare  of  the  gas-lamp  was  not  strong,  but  it  gave 
sufficient  light  for  his  eyes  to  make  her  out.  A  wave 
of  sympathy  passed  over  him,  for  there  was  a  great 
appeal  in  her  personality.  He  stepped  out  as  she 
neared  the  corner  and  confronted  her.  "Come,"  he 
said,  "and  get  in  this  carriage  with  me.  I'll  take  you 
home." 

"No,"  she  replied.     "I  don't  think  I  ought  to." 

"Come  with  me.  I'll  take  you  home.  It's  a  better 
way  to  talk." 

Once  more  that  sense  of  dominance  on  his  part,  that 
power  of  compulsion.  She  yielded,  feeling  all  the  time 
that  she  should  not;  he  called  out  to  the  cabman,  "  Any- 
where for  a  little  while."  When  she  was  seated  beside 
him  he  began  at  once. 

138 


JENNIE    GERHARD? 

"Listen  to  me,  Jennie,  I  want  you.  Tell  me  some- 
thing about  yourself." 

"I  have  to  talk  to  you,"  she  replied,  trying  to  stick 
to  her  original  line  of  defense. 

"About  what?"  he  inquired,  seeking  to  fathom  her 
expression  in  the  half  light. 

"I  can't  go  on  this  way,"  she  murmured  nervously. 
"I  can't  act  this  way.  You  don't  know  how  it  all  is. 
I  shouldn't  have  done  what  I  did  this  morning.  I 
mustn't  see  you  any  more.  Really  I  mustn't." 

"You  didn't  do  what  you  did  this  morning,"  he  re- 
marked, paradoxically,  seizing  on  that  one  particular 
expression.  "I  did  that.  And  as  for  seeing  me  any 
more,  I'm  going  to  see  you."  He  seized  her  hand. 
"You  don't  know  me,  but  I  like  you.  I'm  crazy  about 
you,  that's  all.  You  belong  to  me.  Now  listen.  I'm 
going  to  have  you.  Are  you  going  to  come  to  me?" 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  replied  in  an  agonized  voice,  "I 
can't  do  anything  like  that,  Mr.  Kane.  Please  listen 
to  me.  It  can't  be.  You  don't  know.  Oh,  you  don't 
know.  I  can't  do  what  you  want.  I  don't  want  to.  I 
couldn't,  even  if  I  wanted  to.  You  don't  know  how 
things  are.  But  I  don't  want  to  do  anything  wrong.  I 
mustn't.  I  can't.  I  won't.  Oh,  no!  no!!  no!!!  Please 
let  me  go  home." 

He  listened  to  this  troubled,  feverish  outburst  with 
sympathy,  with  even  a  little  pity. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  you  can't?"  he  asked,  cu- 
riously. 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell  you,"  she  replied.  "Please  don't 
ask  me.  You  oughtn't  to  know.  But  I  mustn't  see  you 
any  more.  It  won't  do  any  good." 

"But  you  like  me,"  he  retorted. 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  I  do.  I  can't  help  that.  But  you 
mustn't  come  near  me  any  more.  Please  don't." 

He  turned  his  proposition  over  in  his  mind  with  the 
solemnity  of  a  judge.  He  knew  that  this  girl  liked  him 

139 


JENNIE    GERHARD? 

— loved  him  really,  brief  as  their  contact  had  been.  And 
he  was  drawn  to  her,  perhaps  not  irrevocably,  but  with 
exceeding  strength.  What  prevented  her  from  yielding, 
especially  since  she  wanted  to  ?  He  was  curious. 

"  See  here,  Jennie,"  he  replied.  "  I  hear  what  you  say. 
I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  'can't'  if  you  want  to. 
You  say  you  like  me.  Why  can't  you  come  to  me? 
You're  my  sort.  We  will  get  along  beautifully  to- 
gether. You're  suited  to  me  temperamentally.  I'd 
like  to  have  you  with  me.  What  makes  you  say  you 
can't  come?" 

"I  can't,"  she  replied.  "I  can't.  I  don't  want  to. 
I  oughtn't.  Oh,  please  don't  ask  me  any  more.  You 
don't  know.  I  can't  tell  you  why."  She  was  thinking 
of  her  baby. 

The  man  had  a  keen  sense  of  justice  and  fair  play. 
Above  all  things  he  wanted  to  be  decent  in  his  treatment 
of  people.  In  this  case  he  intended  to  be  tender  and 
considerate,  and  yet  he  must  win  her.  He  turned  this 
over  in  his  mind. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said  finally,  still  holding  her  hand. 
"I  may  not  want  you  to  do  anything  immediately.  I 
want  you  to  think  it  over.  But  you  belong  to  me. 
You  say  you  care  for  me.  You  admitted  that  this 
morning.  I  know  you  do.  Now  why  should  you  stand 
out  against  me  ?  I  like  you,  and  I  can  do  a  lot  of  things 
for  you.  Why  not  let  us  be  good  friends  now?  Then 
we  can  talk  the  rest  of  this  over  later." 

"But  I  mustn't  do  anything  wrong,"  she  insisted. 
"  I  don't  want  to.  Please  don't  come  near  me  any  more. 
I  can't  do  what  you  want." 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  said.  "You  don't  mean  that. 
Why  did  you  say  you  liked  me  ?  Have  you  changed  your 
mind?  Look  at  me."  (She  had  lowered  her  eyes.) 
"  Look  at  me!  You  haven't,  have  you?" 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,"  she  half  sobbed,  swept  by  some  force 
beyond  her  control. 

140 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Well,  then,  why  stand  out  against  me?  I  love  you, 
I  tell  you — I'm  crazy  about  you.  That's  why  I  came 
back  this  time.  It  was  to  see  you!" 

"Was  it?"  asked  Jennie,  surprised. 

"Yes,  it  was.  And  I  would  have  come  again  and 
again  if  necessary.  I  tell  you  I'm  crazy  about  you. 
I've  got  to  have  you.  Now  tell  me  you'll  come  with  me." 

"No,  no,  no,"  she  pleaded.  "I  can't.  I  must  work. 
I  want  to  work.  I  don't  want  to  do  anything  wrong. 
Please  don't  ask  me.  You  mustn't.  You  must  let  me 
go.  Really  you  must.  I  can't  do  what  you  want." 

"Tell  me,  Jennie,"  he  said,  changing  the  subject. 
"What  does  your  father  do?" 

"He's  a  glass-blower." 

"Here  in  Cleveland?" 

"  No,  he  works  in  Youngstown." 

"Is  your  mother  alive?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  live  with  her?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  smiled  at  the  "sir."  "Don't  say  'sir'  to  me, 
sweet!"  he  pleaded  in  his  gruff  way.  "And  don't  insist 
on  the  Mr.  Kane.  I'm  not  'mister'  to  you  any  more. 
You  belong  to  me,  little  girl,  me."  And  he  pulled  her 
close  to  him. 

"Please  don't,  Mr.  Kane,"  she  pleaded.  "Oh,  please 
don't.  I  can't!  I  can't!  You  mustn't." 

But  he  sealed  her  lips  with  his  own. 

"Listen  to  me,  Jennie,"  he  repeated,  using  his 
favorite  expression.  "I  tell  you  you  belong  to  me.  I 
like  you  better  every  moment.  I  haven't  had  a  chance 
to  know  you.  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  up.  You've 
got  to  come  to  me  eventually.  And  I'm  not  going  to 
have  you  working  as  a  lady's  maid.  You  can't  stay  in 
that  place  except  for  a  little  while.  I'm  going  to  take 
you  somewhere  else.  And  I'm  going  to  leave  you  some 
money,  do  you  hear?  You  have  to  take  it." 

141 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

At  the  word  money  she  quailed  and  withdrew  her  hand. 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  repeated.     "No,  I  won't  take  it." 

"Yes,  you  will.  Give  it  to  your  mother.  I'm  not 
trying  to  buy  you.  I  know  what  you  think.  But  I'm 
not.  I  want  to  help  you.  I  want  to  help  your  family. 
I  know  where  you  live.  I  saw  the  place  to-day.  How 
many  are  there  of  you?" 

"Six,"  she  answered  faintly. 

"The  families  of  the  poor,"  he  thought. 

"Well,  you  take  this  from  me,"  he  insisted,  drawing  a 
purse  from  his  coat.  "  And  I'll  see  you  very  soon  again. 
There's  no  escape,  sweet." 

"  No,  no,"  she  protested.  "  I  won't.  I  don't  need  it. 
No,  you  mustn't  ask  me." 

He  insisted  further,  but  she  was  firm,  and  finally  he 
put  the  money  away. 

"One  thing  is  sure,  Jennie,  you're  not  going  to  escape 
me,"  he  said  soberly.  "You'll  have  to  come  to  me 
eventually.  Don't  you  know  you  will?  Your  own  at- 
titude shows  that.  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you  alone." 

"Oh,  if  you  knew  the  trouble  you're  causing  me." 

"I'm  not  causing  you  any  real  trouble,  am  I?"  he 
asked.  "Surely  not." 

"Yes.     I  can  never  do  what  you  want." 

"You  will!  You  will!"  he  exclaimed  eagerly,  the 
bare  thought  of  this  prize  escaping  him  heightening  his 
passion.  "  You'll  come  to  me."  And  he  drew  her  close 
in  spite  of  all  her  protests. 

"There,"  he  said  when,  after  the  struggle,  that 
mystic  something  between  them  spoke  again,  and  she 
relaxed.  Tears  were  in  her  eyes,  but  he  did  not  see 
them.  "Don't  you  see  how  it  is?  You  like  me  too." 

"I  can't,"  she  repeated,  with  a  sob. 

Her  evident  distress  touched  him.  "You're  not  cry- 
ing, little  girl,  are  you?"  he  asked. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  went  on.  "I'll  not  say  anything 

142 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

more  to-night.  We're  almost  at  your  home.  I'm  leav- 
ing to-morrow,  but  I'll  see  you  again.  Yes,  I  will,  sweet. 
I  can't  give  you  up  now.  I'll  do  anything  in  reason  to 
make  it  easy  for  you,  but  I  can't,  do  you  hear?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Here's  where  you  get  out,"  he  said,  as  the  carriage 
drew  up  near  the  corner.  He  could  see  the  evening  lamp 
gleaming  behind  the  Gerhardt  cottage  curtains. 

"Good-by,"  he  said  as  she  stepped  out. 

"Good-by,"  she  murmured. 

"Remember,"  he  said,  "this  is  just  the  beginning." 

"Oh  no,  no!"  she  pleaded. 

He  looked  after  her  as  she  walked  away. 

"The  beauty!"  he  exclaimed. 

Jennie  stepped  into  the  house  weary,  discouraged, 
ashamed.  What  had  she  done?  There  was  no  deny- 
ing that  she  had  compromised  herself  irretrievably.  He 
would  come  back. 

He  would  come  back.  And  he  had  offered  her  money. 
That  was  the  worst  of  all. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  inconclusive  nature  of  this  interview,  exciting 
as  it  was,  did  not  leave  any  doubt  in  either  Lester 
Kane's  or  Jennie's  mind;  certainly  this  was  not  the  end 
of  the  affair.  Kane  knew  that  he  was  deeply  fascinated. 
This  girl  was  lovely.  She  was  sweeter  than  he  had  had 
any  idea  of.  Her  hesitancy,  her  repeated  protests,  her 
gentle  "no,  no,  no"  moved  him  as  music  might.  Depend 
upon  it,  this  girl  was  for  him,  and  he  would  get  her.  She 
was  too  sweet  to  let  go.  What  did  he  care  about  what 
his  family  or  the  world  might  think? 

It  was  curious  that  Kane  held  the  well-founded  idea 
that  in  time  Jennie  would  yield  to  him  physically,  as  she 
had  already  done  spiritually.  Just  why  he  could  not  say. 
Something  about  her — a  warm  womanhood,  a  guileless 
expression  of  countenance — intimated  a  sympathy  to- 
ward sex  relationship  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  hard, 
brutal  immorality.  She  was  the  kind  of  a  woman  who 
was  made  for  a  man — one  man.  All  her  attitude  toward 
sex  was  bound  up  with  love,  tenderness,  service.  When 
the  one  man  arrived  she  would  love  him  and  she  would 
go  to  him.  That  was  Jennie  as  Lester  understood  her. 
He  felt  it.  She  would  yield  to  him  because  he  was  the 
one  man. 

On  Jennie's  part  there  was  a  great  sense  of  com- 
plication and  of  possible  disaster.  If  he  followed  her 
of  course  he  would  learn  all.  She  had  not  told  him  about 
Brander,  because  she  was  still  under  the  vague  illusion 
that,  in  the  end,  she  might  escape.  When  she  left  him 
she  knew  that  he  would  come  back.  She  knew,  in  spite 

144 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

of  herself  that  she  wanted  him  to  do  so.  Yet  she  felt 
that  she  must  not  yield,  she  must  go  on  leading  her 
straitened,  humdrum  life.  This  was  her  punishment  for 
having  made  a  mistake.  She  had  made  her  bed,  and 
she  must  lie  on  it. 

The  Kane  family  mansion  at  Cincinnati  to  which 
Lester  returned  after  leaving  Jennie  was  an  imposing 
establishment,  which  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
Gerhardt  home.  It  was  a  great,  rambling,  two-story 
affair,  done  after  the  manner  of  the  French  chateaux, 
but  in  red  brick  and  brownstone.  It  was  set  down, 
among  flowers  and  trees,  in  an  almost  park-like  inclosure, 
and  its  very  stones  spoke  of  a  splendid  dignity  and  of  a 
refined  luxury.  Old  Archibald  Kane,  the  father,  had 
amassed  a  tremendous  fortune,  not  by  grabbing  and 
browbeating  and  unfair  methods,  but  by  seeing  a  big 
need  and  filling  it.  Early  in  life  he  had  realized  that 
America  was  a  growing  country.  There  was  going  to  be 
a  big  demand  for  vehicles — wagons,  carriages,  drays — 
and  he  knew  that  some  one  would  have  to  supply  them. 
Having  founded  a  small  wagon  industry,  he  had  built 
it  up  into  a  great  business;  he  made  good  wagons,  and 
he  sold  them  at  a  good  profit.  It  was  his  theory  that 
most  men  were  honest;  he  believed  that  at  bottom  they 
wanted  honest  things,  and  if  you  gave  them  these  they 
would  buy  of  you,  and  come  back  and  buy  again  and 
again,  until  you  were  an  influential  and  rich  man.  He 
believed  in  the  measure  "heaped  full  and  running  over." 
All  through  his  life  and  now  in  his  old  age  he  enjoyed  the 
respect  and  approval  of  every  one  who  knew  him. 
"Archibald  Kane,"  you  would  hear  his  competitors  say, 
"Ah,  there  is  a  fine  man.  Shrewd,  but  honest.  He's 
a  big  man." 

This  man  was  the  father  of  two  sons  and  three  daugh- 
ters, all  healthy,  all  good-looking,  all  blessed  with  excep- 
tional minds,  but  none  of  them  so  generous  and  forceful 
as  their  long-living  and  big-hearted  sire.  Robert,  the 

145 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

eldest,  a  man  forty  years  of  age,  was  his  father's  right- 
hand  man  in  financial  matters,  having  a  certain  hard  in- 
cisiveness  which  fitted  him  for  the  somewhat  sordid  de- 
tails of  business  life.  He  was  of  medium  height,  of  a 
rather  spare  build,  with  a  high  forehead,  slightly  inclined 
to  baldness,  bright,  liquid-blue  eyes,  an  eagle  nose,  and 
thin,  firm,  even  lips.  He  was  a  man  of  few  words, 
rather  slow  to  action  and  of  deep  thought.  He  sat  close 
to  his  father  as  vice-president  of  the  big  company  which 
occupied  two  whole  blocks  in  an  outlying  section  of  the 
city.  He  was  a  strong  man — a  coming  man,  as  his 
father  well  knew. 

Lester,  the  second  boy,  was  his  father's  favorite.  He 
was  not  by  any  means  the  financier  that  Robert  was, 
but  he  had  a  larger  vision  of  the  subtleties  that  underlie 
life.  He  was  softer,  more  human,  more  good-natured 
about  everything.  And,  strangely  enough,  old  Archi- 
bald admired  and  trusted  him.  He  knew  he  had  the 
bigger  vision.  Perhaps  he  turned  to  Robert  when  it 
was  a  question  of  some  intricate  financial  problem,  but 
Lester  was  the  most  loved  as  a  son. 

Then  there  was  Amy,  thirty-two  years  of  age,  mar- 
ried, handsome,  the  mother  of  one  child — a  boy;  Imo- 
gene,  twenty-eight,  also  married,  but  as  yet  without 
children,  and  Louise,  twenty-five,  single,  the  best-look- 
ing of  the  girls,  but  also  the  coldest  and  most  critical. 
She  was  the  most  eager  of  all  for  social  distinction,  the 
most  vigorous  of  all  in  her  love  of  family  prestige,  the 
most  desirous  that  the  Kane  family  should  outshine 
every  other.  She  was  proud  to  think  that  the  family  was 
so  well  placed  socially,  and  carried  herself  with  an  air  and 
a  hauteur  which  was  sometimes  amusing,  sometimes 
irritating  to  Lester !  He  liked  her — in  a  way  she  was  his 
favorite  sister — but  he  thought  she  might  take  herself 
with  a  little  less  seriousness  and  not  do  the  family  stand- 
ing any  harm. 

Mrs.  Kane,  the  mother,  was  a  quiet,  refined  woman, 
146 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

sixty  years  of  age,  who,  having  come  up  from  compara- 
tive poverty  with  her  husband,  cared  but  little  for 
social  life.  But  she  loved  her  children  and  her  husband, 
and  was  naively  proud  of  their  position  and  attainments. 
It  was  enough  for  her  to  shine  only  in  their  reflected 
glory.  A  good  woman,  a  good  wife,  and  a  good  mother. 

Lester  arrived  at  Cincinnati  early  in  the  evening,  and 
drove  at  once  to  his  home.  An  old  Irish  servitor  met  him 
at  the  door. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Lester,"  he  began,  joyously,  "sure  I'm  glad 
to  see  you  back.  I'll  take  your  coat.  Yes,  yes,  it's  been 
fine  weather  we're  having.  Yes,  yes,  the  family's  all 
well.  Sure  your  sister  Amy  is  just  after  leavin'  the  house 
with  the  boy.  Your  mother's  up-stairs  in  her  room. 
Yes,  yes." 

Lester  smiled  cheerily  and  went  up  to  his  mother's 
room.  In  this,  which  was  done  in  white  and  gold  and 
overlooked  the  garden  to  the  south  and  east,  sat  Mrs. 
Kane,  a  subdued,  graceful,  quiet  woman,  with  smoothly 
laid  gray  hair.  She  looked  up  when  the  door  opened, 
laid  down  the  volume  that  she  had  been  reading,  and 
rose  to  greet  him. 

"There  you  are,  Mother,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms 
around  her  and  kissing  her.  "How  are  you?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  just  about  the  same,  Lester.  How  have  you 
been?" 

"  Fine.  I  was  up  with  the  Bracebridges  for  a  few  days 
again.  I  had  to  stop  off  in  Cleveland  to  see  Parsons. 
They  all  asked  after  you." 

"How  is  Minnie?" 

"Just  the  same.  She  doesn't  change  any  that  I  can 
see.  She's  just  as  interested  in  entertaining  as  she  ever 
was." 

"She's  a  bright  girl,"  remarked  his  mother,  recalling 
Mrs.  Bracebridge  as  a  girl  in  Cincinnati.  "I  always 
liked  her.  She's  so  sensible." 

"She  hasn't  lost  any  of  that,  I  can  tell  you,"  replied 

11  147 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

Lester  significantly.  Mrs.  Kane  smiled  and  went  on  to 
speak  of  various  family  happenings.  Imogene  's  husband 
was  leaving  for  St.  Louis  on  some  errand.  Robert's 
wife  was  sick  with  a  cold.  Old  Zwingle,  the  yard  watch- 
man at  the  factory,  who  had  been  with  Mr.  Kane  for 
over  forty  years,  had  died.  Her  husband  was  going  to 
the  funeral.  Lester  listened  dutifully,  albeit  a  trifle 
absently. 

Lester,  as  he  walked  down  the  hall,  encountered 
Louise.  "Smart"  was  the  word  for  her.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  beaded  black  silk  dress,  fitting  close  to  her 
form,  with  a  burst  of  rubies  at  her  throat  which  con- 
trasted effectively  with  her  dark  complexion  and  black 
hair.  Her  eyes  were  black  and  piercing. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  Lester,"  she  exclaimed.  "When 
did  you  get  in  ?  Be  careful  how  you  kiss  me.  I'm  going 
out,  and  I'm  all  fixed,  even  to  the  powder  on  my  nose. 
Oh,  you  bear !"  Lester  had  gripped  her  firmly  and  kissed 
her  soundly.  She  pushed  him  away  with  her  strong 
hands. 

"I  didn't  brush  much  of  it  off,"  he  said.  "You  can 
always  dust  more  on  with  that  puff  of  yours."  He 
passed  on  to  his  own  room  to  dress  for  dinner.  Dress- 
ing for  dinner  was  a  custom  that  had  been  adopted  by 
the  Kane  family  in  the  last  few  years.  Guests  had 
become  so  common  that  in  a  way  it  was  a  necessity,  and 
Louise,  in  particular,  made  a  point  of  it.  To-night 
Robert  was  coming,  and  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burnett,  old 
friends  of  his  father  and  mother,  and  so,  of  course,  the 
meal  would  be  a  formal  one.  Lester  knew  that  his 
father  was  around  somewhere,  but  he  did  not  trouble  to 
look  him  up  now.  He  was  thinking  of  his  last  two  days 
in  Cleveland  and  wondering  when  he  would  see  Jennie 
again. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A3  Lester  came  down-stairs  after  making  his  toilet 
he  found  his  father  in  the  library  reading. 

"Hello,  Lester,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his  paper 
over  the  top  of  his  glasses  and  extending  his  hand. 
"Where  do  you  come  from?" 

"Cleveland,"  replied  his  son,  shaking  hands  heartily, 
and  smiling. 

"Robert  tells  me  you've  been  to  New  York." 

"Yes,  I  was  there." 

"How  did  you  find  my  old  friend  Arnold?" 

"Just  about  the  same,"  returned  Lester.  "He 
doesn't  look  any  older." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Archibald  Kane  genially,  as  if 
the  report  were  a  compliment  to  his  own  hardy  condition. 
"He's  been  a  temperate  man.  A  fine  old  gentleman." 

He  led  the  way  back  to  the  sitting-room  where  they 
chatted  over  business  and  home  news  until  the  chime  of 
the  clock  in  the  hall  warned  the  guests  up-stairs  that 
dinner  had  been  served. 

Lester  sat  down  in  great  comfort  amid  the  splendors 
of  the  great  Louis  Quinze  dining-room.  He  liked  this 
homey  home  atmosphere — his  mother  and  father  and  his 
sisters — the  old  family  friends.  So  he  smiled  and  was 
exceedingly  genial. 

Louise  announced  that  the  Leverings  were  going  to 
give  a  dance  on  Tuesday,  and  inquired  whether  he  in- 
tended to  go. 

"  You  know  I  don't  dance,"  he  returned  dryly.  "  Why 
should  I  go?" 

149 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"  Don't  dance  ?  Won't  dance,  you  mean.  You're  get- 
ting too  lazy  to  move.  If  Robert  is  willing  to  dance 
occasionally  I  think  you  might." 

"Robert's  got  it  on  me  in  lightness,"  Lester  replied, 
airily. 

"And  politeness,"  retorted  Louise. 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  Lester. 

"Don't  try  to  stir  up  a  fight,  Louise,"  observed 
Robert,  sagely. 

After  dinner  they  adjourned  to  the  library,  and  Robert 
talked  with  his  brother  a  little  on  business.  There  were 
some  contracts  coming  up  for  revision.  He  wanted  to 
see  what  suggestions  Lester  had  to  make.  Louise  was 
going  to  a  party,  and  the  carriage  was  now  announced. 
"So  you  are  not  coming?"  she  asked,  a  trifle  complain- 
ingly. 

"Too  tired,"  said  Lester  lightly.  "Make  my  excuses 
to  Mrs.  Knowles." 

"Letty  Pace  asked  about  you  the  other  night," 
Louise  called  back  from  the  door. 

"Kind,"  replied  Lester.     "I'm  greatly  obliged." 

"She's  a  nice  girl,  Lester,"  put  in  his  father,  who  was 
standing  near  the  open  fire.  "I  only  wish  you  would 
marry  her  and  settle  down.  You'd  have  a  good  wife  in 
her." 

"She's  charming,"  testified  Mrs.  Kane. 

"What  is  this?"  asked  Lester  jocularly — "a  con- 
spiracy? You  know  I'm  not  strong  on  the  matrimonial 
business." 

"And  I  well  know  it,"  replied  his  mother  semi- 
seriously.  "  I  wish  you  were." 

Lester  changed  the  subject.  He  really  could  not 
stand  for  this  sort  of  thing  any  more,  he  told  himself. 
And  as  he  thought  his  mind  wandered  back  to  Jennie 
and  her  peculiar  "Oh  no,  no!"  There  was  someone 
that  appealed  to  him.  That  was  a  type  of  womanhood 
worth  while.  Not  sophisticated,  not  self-seeking,  not 

150 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

watched  over  and  set  like  a  man-trap  in  the  path  of  men, 
but  a  sweet  little  girl — sweet  as  a  flower,  who  was  with- 
out anybody,  apparently,  to  watch  over  her.  That 
night  in  his  room  he  composed  a  letter,  which  he  dated 
a  week  later,  because  he  did  not  want  to  appear  too  urgent 
and  because  he  could  not  again  leave  Cincinnati  for  at 
least  two  weeks. 

"  MY  DEAR  JENNIE, — Although  it  has  been  a  week,  and 
I  have  said  nothing,  I  have  not  forgotten  you — believe 
me.  Was  the  impression  I  gave  of  myself  very  bad? 
I  will  make  it  better  from  now  on,  for  I  love  you,  little 
girl — I  really  do.  There  is  a  flower  on  my  table  which 
reminds  me  of  you  very  much — white,  delicate,  beauti- 
ful. Your  personality,  lingering  with  me,  is  just  that. 
You  are  the  essence  of  everything  beautiful  to  me.  It 
is  in  your  power  to  strew  flowers  in  my  path  if  you  will. 

"But  what  I  want  to  say  here  is  that  I  shall  be  in 
Cleveland  on  the  i8th,  and  I  shall  expect  to  see  you.  I 
arrive  Thursday  night,  and  I  want  you  to  meet  me  in  the 
ladies'  parlor  of  the  Dornton  at  noon  Friday.  Will  you  ? 
You  can  lunch  with  me. 

"You  see,  I  respect  your  suggestion  that  I  should  not 
call.  (I  will  not — on  condition.)  These  separations 
are  dangerous  to  good  friendship.  Write  me  that  you 
will.  I  throw  myself  on  your  generosity.  But  I  can't 
take  "no"  for  an  answer,  not  now. 

"With  a  world  of  affection. 

"LESTER  KANE." 

He  sealed  the  letter  and  addressed  it.  "She's  a  re- 
markable girl  in  her  way,"  he  thought.  "  She  really  is." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  arrival  of  this  letter,  coming  after  a  week  of 
silence  and  after  she  had  had  a  chance  to  think, 
moved  Jennie  deeply.  What  did  she  want  to  do? 
What  ought  she  to  do  ?  How  did  she  truly  feel  about 
this  man  ?  Did  she  sincerely  wish  to  answer  his  letter  ? 
If  she  did  so,  what  should  she  say?  Heretofore  all 
her  movements,  even  the  one  in  which  she  had  sought 
to  sacrifice  herself  for  the  sake  of  Bass  in  Columbus, 
had  not  seemed  to  involve  any  one  but  herself.  Now, 
there  seemed  to  be  others  to  consider  —  her  family, 
above  all,  her  child.  The  little  Vesta  was  now  eighteen 
months  of  age;  she  was  an  interesting  child;  her  large, 
blue  eyes  and  light  hair  giving  promise  of  a  comeliness 
which  would  closely  approximate  that  of  her  mother, 
while  her  mential  traits  indicated  a  clear  and  intelligent 
mind.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  had  become  very  fond  of  her. 
Gerhardt  had  unbended  so  gradually  that  his  interest 
was  not  even  yet  clearly  discernible,  but  he  had  a  dis- 
tinct feeling  of  kindliness  toward  her.  And  this  re- 
adjustment of  her  father's  attitude  had  aroused  in 
Jennie  an  ardent  desire  to  so  conduct  herself  that  no  pain 
should  ever  come  to  him  again.  Any  new  folly  on  her 
part  would  not  only  be  base  ingratitude  to  her  father,  but 
would  tend  to  injure  the  prospects  of  her  little  one.  Her 
life  was  a  failure,  she  fancied,  but  Vesta's  was  a  thing 
apart;  she  must  do  nothing  to  spoil  it.  She  wondered 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  write  Lester  and  ex- 
plain everything.  She  had  told  him  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  do  wrong.  Suppose  she  went  on  to  inform  him 

152 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

that  she  had  a  child,  and  beg  him  to  leave  her  in  peace. 
Would  he  obey  her?  She  doubted  it.  Did  she  really 
want  him  to  take  her  at  her  word  ? 

The  need  of  making  this  confession  was  a  painful  thing 
to  Jennie.  It  caused  her  to  hesitate,  to  start  a  letter  in 
which  she  tried  to  explain,  and  then  to  tear  it  up. 
Finally,  fate  intervened  in  the  sudden  home-coming 
of  her  father,  who  had  been  seriously  injured  by  an  acci- 
dent at  the  glass-works  in  Youngstown  where  he  worked. 

It  was  on  a  Wednesday  afternoon,  in  the  latter  part  of 
August,  when  a  letter  came  from  Gerhardt.  But  instead 
of  the  customary  fatherly  communication,  written  in 
German  and  inclosing  the  regular  weekly  remittance  of 
five  dollars,  there  was  only  a  brief  note,  written  by  an- 
other hand,  and  explaining  that  the  day  before  Gerhardt 
had  received  a  severe  burn  on  both  hands,  due  to  the 
accidental  overturning  of  a  dipper  of  molten  glass.  The 
letter  added  that  he  would  be  home  the  next  morning. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  exclaimed  William,  his 
mouth  wide  open. 

"Poor  papa!"  said  Veronica,  tears  welling  up  in  her 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  sat  down,  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
and  stared  at  the  floor.  "Now,  what  to  do?"  she  ner- 
vously exclaimed.  The  possibility  that  Gerhardt  was 
disabled  for  life  opened  long  vistas  of  difficulties  which 
she  had  not  the  courage  to  contemplate. 

Bass  came  home  at  half-past  six  and  Jennie  at  eight. 
The  former  heard  the  news  with  an  astonished  face. 

"  Gee !  that's  tough,  isn't  it  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Did  the 
letter  say  how  bad  he  was  hurt?" 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Gerhardt. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  worry  about  it,"  said  Bass  easily. 
"It  won't  do  any  good.  We'll  get  along  somehow.  I 
wouldn't  worry  like  that  if  I  were  you." 

The  truth  was,  he  wouldn't,  because  his  nature  was 
wholly  different.  Life  did  not  rest  heavily  upon  his 

-53 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

shoulders.  His  brain  was  not  large  enough  to  grasp  the 
significance  and  weigh  the  results  of  things. 

"I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  endeavoring  to  recover 
herself.  "I  can't  help  it,  though.  To  think  that  just 
when  we  were  getting  along  fairly  well  this  new  calamity 
should  be  added.  It  seems  sometimes  as  if  we  were 
under  a  curse.  We  have  so  much  bad  luck." 

When  Jennie  came  her  mother  turned  to  her  instinc- 
tively; here  was  her  one  stay. 

"  What's  the  matter,  ma  ?"  asked  Jennie  as  she  opened 
the  door  and  observed  her  mother's  face.  "What  have 
you  been  crying  about?" 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  looked  at  her,  and  then  turned  half 
away. 

"Pa's  had  his  hands  burned,"  put  in  Bass  solemnly. 
"He'll  be  home  to-morrow." 

Jennie  turned  and  stared  at  him.  "His  hands 
burned!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  said  Bass. 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

"A  pot  of  glass  was  turned  over." 

Jennie  looked  at  her  mother,  and  her  eyes  dimmed 
with  tears.  Instinctively  she  ran  to  her  and  put  her 
arms  around  her. 

"Now,  don't  you  cry,  ma,"  she  said,  barely  able  to 
control  herself.  "Don't  you  worry.  I  know  how  you 
feel,  but  we'll  get  along.  Don't  cry  now."  Then  her 
own  lips  lost  their  evenness,  and  she  struggled  long  be- 
fore she  could  pluck  up  courage  to  contemplate  this  new 
disaster.  And  now  without  volition  upon  her  part 
there  leaped  into  her  consciousness  a  new  and  subtly 
persistent  thought.  What  about  Lester's  offer  of  as- 
sistance now?  What  about  his  declaration  of  love? 
Somehow  it  came  back  to  her — his  affection,  his  per- 
sonality, his  desire  to  help  her,  his  sympathy,  so  like 
that  which  Brander  had  shown  when  Bass  was  in  jail. 
Was  she  doomed  to  a  second  sacrifice?  Did  it  really 

154 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

make  any  difference  ?  Wasn't  her  life  a  failure  already? 
She  thought  this  over  as  she  looked  at  her  mother  sitting 
there  so  silent,  haggard,  and  distraught.  "  What  a  pity," 
she  thought,  "that  her  mother  must  always  suffer! 
Wasn't  it  a  shame  that  she  could  never  have  any  real 
happiness?" 

"I  wouldn't  feel  so  badly,"  she  said,  after  a  time. 
"Maybe  pa  isn't  burned  so  badly  as  we  think.  Did  the 
letter  say  he'd  be  home  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  recovering  herself. 

They  talked  more  quietly  from  now  on,  and  gradually, 
as  the  details  were  exhausted,  a  kind  of  dumb  peace 
settled  down  upon  the  household. 

"  One  of  us  ought  to  go  to  the  train  to  meet  him  in  the 
morning,"  said  Jennie  to  Bass.  "I  will.  I  guess  Mrs. 
Bracebridge  won't  mind." 

"No,"  said  Bass  gloomily,  "you  mustn't.     I  can  go." 

He  was  sour  at  this  new  fling  of  fate,  and  he  looked 
his  feelings;  he  stalked  off  gloomily  to  his  room  and 
shut  himself  in.  Jennie  and  her  mother  saw  the  others 
off  to  bed,  and  then  sat  out  in  the  kitchen  talking. 

"I  don't  see  what's  to  become  of  us  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Gerhardt  at  last,  completely  overcome  by  the  financial 
complications  which  this  new  calamity  had  brought 
about.  She  looked  so  weak  and  helpless  that  Jennie 
could  hardly  contain  herself. 

"Don't  worry,  mamma  dear,"  she  said,  softly,  a 
peculiar  resolve  coming  into  her  heart.  The  world  was 
wide.  There  was  comfort  and  ease  in  it  scattered  by 
others  with  a  lavish  hand.  Surely,  surely  misfortune 
could  not  press  so  sharply  but  that  they  could  live! 

She  sat  down  with  her  mother,  the  difficulties  of  the 
future  seeming  to  approach  with  audible  and  ghastly 
steps. 

"What  do  you  suppose  will  become  ot  us  now?"  re- 
peated her  mother,  who  saw  how  her  fanciful  conception 
of  this  Cleveland  home  had  crumbled  before  her  eyes. 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

"Why,"  said  Jennie,  who  saw  clearly  and  knew  what 
could  be  done,  "it  will  be  all  right.  I  wouldn't  worry 
about  it.  Something  will  happen.  We'll  get  some- 
thing." 

She  realized,  as  she  sat  there,  that  fate  had  shifted 
the  burden  of  the  situation  to  her.  She  must  sacrifice 
herself;  there  was  no  other  way. 

Bass  met  his  father  at  the  railway  station  in  the 
morning.  He  looked  very  pale,  and  seemed  to  have 
suffered  a  great  deal.  His  cheeks  were  slightly  sunken 
and  his  bony  profile  appeared  rather  gaunt.  His  hands 
were  heavily  bandaged,  and  altogether  he  presented  such 
a  picture  of  distress  that  many  stopped  to  look  at  him 
on  the  way  home  from  the  station. 

"By  chops,"  he  said  to  Bass,  "that  was  a  burn  I  got. 
I  thought  once  I  couldn't  stand  the  pain  any  longer. 
Such  pain  I  had!  Such  pain!  By  chops!  I  will  never 
forget  it." 

He  related  just  how  the  accident  had  occurred,  and 
said  that  he  did  not  know  whether  he  would  ever  be 
able  to  use  his  hands  again.  The  thumb  on  his  right 
hand  and  the  first  two  fingers  on  the  left  had  been 
burned  to  the  bone.  The  latter  had  been  amputated  at 
the  first  joint — the  thumb  he  might  save,  but  his  hands 
would  be  in  danger  of  being  stiff. 

"  By  chops !"  he  added,  "  just  at  the  time  when  I  needed 
the  money  most.  Too  bad!  Too  bad!" 

When  they  reached  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Gerhardt 
opened  the  door,  the  old  mill-worker,  conscious  of  her 
voiceless  sympathy,  began  to  cry.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  sobbed 
also.  Even  Bass  lost  control  of  himself  for  a  moment 
or  two,  but  quickly  recovered.  The  other  children  wept, 
until  Bass  called  a  halt  on  all  of  them. 

"Don't  cry  now,"  he  said  cheeringly.  "What's  the 
use  of  crying?  It  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that.  You'll  be  all 
right  again.  We  can  get  along." 

Bass's  words  had  a  soothing  effect,  temporarily,  and, 

156 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

now  that  her  husband  was  home,  Mrs.Gerhardt  recovered 
her  composure.  Though  his  hands  were  bandaged,  the 
mere  fact  that  he  could  walk  and  was  not  otherwise 
injured  was  some  consolation.  He  might  recover  the 
use  of  his  hands  and  be  able  to  undertake  light  work 
again.  Anyway,  they  would  hope  for  the  best. 

When  Jennie  came  home  that  night  she  wanted  to 
run  to  her  father  and  lay  the  treasury  of  her  services  and 
affection  at  his  feet,  but  she  trembled  lest  he  might  be 
as  cold  to  her  as  formerly. 

Gerhardt,  too,  was  troubled.  Never  had  he  com- 
pletely recovered  from  the  shame  which  his  daughter 
had  brought  upon  him.  Although  he  wanted  to  be 
kindly,  his  feelings  were  so  tangled  that  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  say  or  do. 

"Papa,"  said  Jennie,  approaching  him  timidly. 

Gerhardt  looked  confused  and  tried  to  say  something 
natural,  but  it  was  unavailing.  The  thought  of  his 
helplessness,  the  knowledge  of  her  sorrow  and  of  his 
own  responsiveness  to  her  affection — it  was  all  too  much 
for  him;  he  broke  down  again  and  cried  helplessly. 

"Forgive  me,  papa,"  she  pleaded,  "I'm  so  sorry. 
Oh,  I'm  so  sorry." 

He  did  not  attempt  to  look  at  her,  but  in  the  swirl  of 
feeling  that  their  meeting  created  he  thought  that  he 
could  forgive,  and  he  did. 

"  I  have  prayed,"  he  said  brokenly.     "  It  is  all  right." 

When  he  recovered  himself  he  felt  ashamed  of  his 
emotion,  but  a  new  relationship  of  sympathy  and  of  un- 
derstanding had  been  established.  From  that  time, 
although  there  was  always  a  great  reserve  between  them, 
Gerhardt  tried  not  to  ignore  her  completely,  and  she 
endeavored  to  show  him  the  simple  affection  of  a 
daughter,  just  as  in  the  old  days. 

But  while  the  household  was  again  at  peace,  there 
were  other  cares  and  burdens  to  be  faced.  How  were 
they  to  get  along  now  with  five  dollars  taken  from  the 

157 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

weekly  budget,  and  with  the  cost  of  Gerhardt's  pres- 
ence added  ?  Bass  might  have  contributed  more  of  his 
weekly  earnings,  but  he  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  do  it. 
And  so  the  small  sum  of  nine  dollars  weekly  must  meet 
as  best  it  could  the  current  expenses  of  rent,  food,  and 
coal,  to  say  nothing  of  incidentals,  which  now  began  to 
press  very  heavily.  Gerhardt  had  to  go  to  a  doctor  to 
have  his  hands  dressed  daily.  George  needed  a  new  pair 
of  shoes.  Either  more  money  must  come  from  some 
source  or  the  family  must  beg  for  credit  and  suffer  the 
old  tortures  of  want.  The  situation  crystallized  the  half- 
formed  resolve  in  Jennie's  mind. 

Lester's  letter  had  been  left  unanswered.  The  day 
was  drawing  near.  Should  she  write?  He  would  help 
them.  Had  he  not  tried  to  force  money  on  her?  She 
finally  decided  that  it  was  her  duty  to  avail  herself  of 
this  proffered  assistance.  She  sat  down  and  wrote  him 
a  brief  note.  She  would  meet  him  as  he  had  requested, 
but  he  would  please  not  come  to  the  house.  She  mailed 
the  letter,  and  then  waited,  with  mingled  feelings  of 
trepidation  and  thrilling  expectancy,  the  arrival  of  the 
fateful  day. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  fatal  Friday  came,  and  Jennie  stood  face  to  face 
with  this  new  and  overwhelming  complication  in 
her  modest  scheme  of  existence.  There  was  really  no 
alternative,  she  thought.  Her  own  life  was  a  failure. 
Why  go  on  fighting?  If  she  could  make  her  family 
happy,  if  she  could  give  Vesta  a  good  education,  if  she 
could  conceal  the  true  nature  of  this  older  story  and  keep 
Vesta  in  the  background — perhaps,  perhaps — well,  rich 
men  had  married  poor  girls  before  this,  and  Lester  was 
very  kind,  he  certainly  liked  her.  At  seven  o'clock  she 
went  to  Mrs.  Bracebridge's;  at  noon  she  excused  herself 
on  the  pretext  of  some  work  for  her  mother  and  left  the 
house  for  the  hotel. 

Lester,  leaving  Cincinnati  a  few  days  earlier  than  he 
expected,  had  failed  to  receive  her  reply;  he  arrived  at 
Cleveland  feeling  sadly  out  of  tune  with  the  world.  He 
had  a  lingering  hope  that  a  letter  from  Jennie  might  be 
awaiting  him  at  the  hotel,  but  there  was  no  word  from 
her.  He  was  a  man  not  easily  wrought  up,  but  to-night 
he  felt  depressed,  and  so  went  gloomily  up  to  his  room 
and  changed  his  linen.  After  supper  he  proceeded  to 
drown  his  dissatisfaction  in  a  game  of  billiards  with  some 
friends,  from  whom  he  did  not  part  until  he  had  taken 
very  much  more  than  his  usual  amount  of  alcoholic 
stimulant.  The  next  morning  he  arose  with  a  vague 
idea  of  abandoning  the  whole  affair,  but  as  the  hours 
elapsed  and  the  time  of  his  appointment  drew  near  he 
decided  that  it  might  not  be  unwise  to  give  her  one  last 
chance.  She  might  come.  Accordingly,  when  it  still 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

lacked  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  the  time,  he  went  down 
into  the  parlor.  Great  was  his  delight  when  he  beheld 
her  sitting  in  a  chair  and  waiting — the  outcome  of  her 
acquiescence.  He  walked  briskly  up,  a  satisfied,  grati- 
fied smile  on  his  face. 

"  So  you  did  come  after  all/'  he  said,  gazing  at  her  with 
the  look  of  one  who  has  lost  and  recovered  a  prize. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  not  writing  me?  I  thought 
from  the  way  you  neglected  me  that  you  had  made  up 
your  mind  not  to  come  at  all." 

"I  did  write,"  she  replied. 

"Where?" 

"To  the  address  you  gave  me.  I  wrote  three  days 
ago." 

"That  explains  it.  It  came  too  late.  You  should 
have  written  me  before.  How  have  you  been?" 

"Oh,  all  right,"  she  replied. 

"You  don't  look  it!"  he  said.  "  You  look  worried. 
What's  the  trouble,  Jennie?  Nothing  gone  wrong  out 
at  your  house,  has  there?" 

It  was  a  fortuitous  question.  He  hardly  knew  why 
lie  had  asked  it.  Yet  it  opened  the  door  to  what  she 
wanted  to  say. 

"My  father's  sick,"  she  replied. 

"What's  happened  to  him?" 

"He  burned  his  hands  at  the  glass-works.  We've 
been  terribly  worried.  It  looks  as  though  he  would  not 
be  able  to  use  them  any  more." 

She  paused,  looking  the  distress  she  felt,  and  he  saw 
plainly  that  she  was  facing  a  crisis. 

"That's  too  bad,"  he  said.  "That  certainly  is. 
When  did  this  happen?" 

"Oh,  almost  three  weeks  ago  now." 

"It  certainly  is  bad.  Come  in  to  lunch,  though.  I 
want  to  talk  with  you.  I've  been  wanting  to  get  a 
better  understanding  of  your  family  affairs  ever  since  I 
left."  He  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room  and  selected 

1 60 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

a  secluded  table.  He  tried  to  divert  her  mind  by  asking 
her  to  order  the  luncheon,  but  she  was  too  worried  and 
too  shy  to  do  so  and  he  had  to  make  out  the  menu  by 
himself.  Then  he  turned  to  her  with  a  cheering  air. 
"Now,  Jennie,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  tell  me  all 
about  your  family.  I  got  a  little  something  of  it  last 
time,  but  I  want  to  get  it  straight.  Your  father,  you 
said,  was  a  glass-blower  by  trade.  Now  he  can't  work 
any  more  at  that,  that's  obvious." 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"How  many  other  children  are  there?" 

"Six." 

"Are  you  the  oldest?" 

"No,  my  brother  Sebastian  is.     He's  twenty-two." 

"And  what  does  he  do?" 

"He's  a  clerk  in  a  cigar  store." 

"Do  you  know  how  much  he  makes?" 

"I  think  it's  twelve  dollars,"  she  replied  thought- 
fully. 

"And  the  other  children?" 

"  Martha  and  Veronica  don't  do  anything  yet.  They're 
too  young.  My  brother  George  works  at  Wilson's.  He's 
a  cash-boy.  He  gets  three  dollars  and  a  half." 

"And  how  much  do  you  make?" 

"I  make  four." 

He  stopped,  figuring  up  mentally  just  what  they  had 
to  live  on.  "  How  much  rent  do  you  pay  ?"  he  continued. 

"Twelve  dollars." 

"How  old  is  your  mother?" 

"She's  nearly  fifty  now." 

He  turned  a  fork  in  his  hands  back  and  forth;  he  was 
thinking  earnestly. 

"To  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  I  fancied  it  was  some- 
thing like  that,  Jennie,"  he  said.  "I've  been  thinking 
about  you  a  lot.  Now,  I  know.  There's  only  one- 
answer  to  your  problem,  and  it  isn't  such  a  bad  one, 
if  you'll  only  believe  me."  He  paused  for  an  jnquiry, 

161 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

but  she  made  none.     Her  mind  was  running  on  her  own 
difficulties. 

"Don't  you  want  to  know?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  mechanically. 

"  It's  me,"  he  replied.  "  You  have  to  let  me  help  you. 
I  wanted  to  last  time.  Now  you  have  to ;  do  you  hear  ?" 

"I  thought  I  wouldn't,"  she  said  simply. 

"I  knew  what  you  thought,"  he  replied.  "That's 
all  over  now.  I'm  going  to  'tend  to  that  family  of  yours. 
And  I'll  do  it  right  now  while  I  think  of  it." 

He  drew  out  his  purse  and  extracted  several  ten  and 
twenty-dollar  bills — two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  all. 
"I  want  you  to  take  this,"  he  said.  "It's  just  the  be- 
ginning. I  will  see  that  your  family  is  provided  for 
from  now  on.  Here,  give  me  your  hand." 

"Oh  no,"  she  said.  "Not  so  much.  Don't  give  me 
all  that." 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "Don't  argue.  Here.  Give  me 
your  hand." 

She  put  it  out  in  answer  to  the  summons  of  his  eyes, 
and  he  shut  her  fingers  on  the  money,  pressing  them 
gently  at  the  same  time.  "  I  want  you  to  have  it,  sweet. 
I  love  you,  little  girl.  I'm  not  going  to  see  you  suffer, 
nor  any  one  belonging  to  you." 

Her  eyes  looked  a  dumb  thankfulness,  and  she  bit  her 
lips. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,"  she  said. 

"You  don't  need  to,"  he  replied.  "The  thanks  are 
all  the  other  way — believe  me." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her,  the  beauty  of  her  face 
holding  him.  She  looked  at  the  table,  wondering  what 
would  come  next. 

"How  would  you  like  to  leave  what  you're  doing  and 
stay  at  home?"  he  asked.  "That  would  give  you  your 
freedom  day  times." 

"I  couldn't  do  that,"  she  replied.  "Papa  wouldn't 
allow  it.  He  knows  I  ought  to  work." 

162 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"That's  true  enough,"  he  said.  "  But  there's  so  little 
in  what  you're  doing.  Good  heavens!  Four  dollars  a 
week !  I  would  be  glad  to  give  you  fifty  times  that  sum 
if  I  thought  there  was  any  way  in  which  you  could  use 
it."  He  idly  thrummed  the  cloth  with  his  fingers. 

"I  couldn't,"  she  said.  "I  hardly  know  how  to  use 
this.  They'll  suspect.  I'll  have  to  tell  mamma." 

From  the  way  she  said  it  he  judged  there  must  be 
some  bond  of  sympathy  between  her  and  her  mother 
which  would  permit  of  a  confidence  such  as  this.  He 
was  by  no  means  a  hard  man,  and  the  thought  touched 
him.  But  he  would  not  relinquish  his  purpose. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  as  far  as  I  can 
see,"  he  went  on  very  gently.  "You're  not  suited  for 
the  kind  of  work  you're  doing.  You're  too  refined. 
I  object  to  it.  Give  it  up  and  come  with  me  down  to 
New  York;  I'll  take  good  care  of  you.  I  love  you  and 
want  you.  As  far  as  your  family  is  concerned,  you  won't 
have  to  worry  about  them  any  more.  You  can  take  a 
nice  home  for  them  and  furnish  it  in  any  style  you 
please.  Wouldn't  you  like  that?" 

He  paused,  and  Jennie's  thoughts  reverted  quickly 
to  her  mother,  her  dear  mother.  All  her  life  long  Mrs. 
Gerhardt  had  been  talking  of  this  very  thing — a  nice 
home.  If  they  could  just  have  a  larger  house,  with  good 
furniture  and  a  yard  filled  with  trees,  how  happy  she 
would  be.  In  such  a  home  she  would  be  free  of  the  care 
of  rent,  the  discomfort  of  poor  furniture,  the  wretched- 
ness of  poverty;  she  would  be  so  happy.  She  hesitated 
there  while  his  keen  eye  followed  her  in  spirit,  and  he 
saw  what  a  power  he  had  set  in  motion.  It  had  been  a 
happy  inspiration — the  suggestion  of  a  decent  home  for 
the  family.  He  waited  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  then 
said: 

"Well,  wouldn't  you  better  let  me  do  that?" 

"It  would  be  very  nice,"  she  said,  "but  it  can't  be 
done  now.  I  couldn't  leave  home.  Papa  would  want 
12  163 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

to  know  all  about  where  I  was  going.  I  wouldn't  kno\v 
what  to  say." 

"Why  couldn't  you  pretend  that  you  are  going  down 
to  New  York  with  Mrs.  Bracebridge  ? "  he  suggested. 
"  There  couldn't  be  any  objection  to  that,  could 
there?" 

"  Not  if  they  didn't  find  out,"  she  said,  her  eyes  open- 
ing in  amazement.  "  But  if  they  should!" 

"They  won't,"  he  replied  calmly.  "They're  not 
watching  Mrs.  Bracebridge's  affairs.  Plenty  of  mis- 
tresses take  their  maids  on  long  trips.  Why  not  simply 
tell  them  you're  invited  to  go — have  to  go — and  then 
go?" 

"Do  you  think  I  could?"  she  inquired. 

"Certainly,"  he  replied.  "What  is  there  peculiar 
about  that?" 

She  thought  it  over,  and  the  plan  did  seem  feasible. 
Then  she  looked  at  this  man  and  realized  that  relation- 
ship with  him  meant  possible  motherhood  for  her  again. 
The  tragedy  of  giving  birth  to  a  child — ah,  she  could  not 
go  through  that  a  second  time,  at  least  under  the  same 
conditions.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to  tell  him 
about  Vesta,  but  she  must  voice  this  insurmountable 
objection. 

"  I — "  she  said,  formulating  the  first  word  of  her  sen- 
tence, and  then  stopping. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I— what  ?" 

"I — "     She  paused  again. 

He  loved  her  shy  ways,  her  sweet,  hesitating  lips. 

"What  is  it,  Jennie?"  he  asked  helpfully.  "You're 
so  delicious.  Can't  you  tell  me?" 

Her  hand  was  on  the  table.  He  reached  over  and  laid 
his  strong  brown  one  on  top  of  it. 

"  I  couldn't  have  a  baby,"  she  said,  finally,  and  looked 
down. 

He  gazed  at  her,  and  the  charm  of  her  frankness,  her 
innate  decency  under  conditions  so  anomalous,  her  simple 

164 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

unaffected  recognition  of  the  primal  facts  of  life  lifted 
her  to  a  plane  in  his  esteem  which  she  had  not  occupied 
until  that  moment. 

"You're  a  great  girl,  Jennie,"  he  said.  "You're 
wonderful.  But  don't  worry  about  that.  It  can  be  at- 
ranged.  You  don't  need  to  have  a  child  unless  you  want 
to,  and  I  don't  want  you  to." 

He  saw  the  question  written  in  her  wondering,  shamed 
face. 

"It's  so,"  he  said.  "You  believe  me,  don't  you? 
You  think  I  know,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered. 

"Well,  I  do.  But  anyway,  I  wouldn't  let  any  trouble 
come  to  you.  I'll  take  you  away.  Besides,  I  don't  want 
any  children.  There  wouldn't  be  any  satisfaction  in 
that  proposition  for  me  at  this  time.  I'd  rather  wait. 
But  there  won't  be — don't  worry." 

"Yes,"  she  said  faintly.  Not  for  worlds  could  she 
have  met  his  eyes. 

"Look  here,  Jennie,"  he  said,  after  a  time.  "You 
care  for  me,  don't  you?  You  don't  think  I'd  sit  here 
and  plead  with  you  if  I  didn't  care  for  you  ?  I'm  crazy 
about  you,  and  that's  the  literal  truth.  You're  like  wine 
to  me.  I  want  you  to  come  with  me.  I  want  you  to 
do  it  quickly.  I  know  how  difficult  this  family  business 
is,  but  you  can  arrange  it.  Come  with  me  down  to  New 
York.  We'll  work  out  something  later.  I'll  meet  your 
family.  We'll  pretend  a  courtship,  anything  you  like — 
only  come  now." 

"You  don't  mean  right  away,  do  you?"  she  asked, 
startled. 

"  Yes,  to-morrow  if  possible.  Monday  sure.  You  can 
arrange  it.  Why,  if  Mrs.  Bracebridge  asked  you  you'd 
go  fast  enough,  and  no  one  would  think  anything  about 
it.  Isn't  that  so?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted  slowly. 

"Well,  then,  why  not  now?" 

165 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"  It's  always  so  much  harder  to  work  out  a  falsehood," 
she  replied  thoughtfully. 

"I  know  it,  but  you  can  come.     Won't  you?" 

"Won't  you  wait  a  little  while?"  she  pleaded.  "It's 
so  very  sudden.  I'm  afraid." 

"Not  a  day,  sweet,  that  I  can  help.  Can't  you  see 
how  I  feel?  Look  in  my  eyes.  Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  sorrowfully,  and  yet  with  a  strange 
thrill  of  affection.  "I  will." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  business  of  arranging  for  this  sudden  departure 
was  really  not  so  difficult  as  it  first  appeared. 
Jennie  proposed  to  tell  her  mother  the  whole  truth,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  say  to  her  father  except  that  she 
was  going  with  Mrs.  Bracebridge  at  the  latter's  request. 
He  might  question  her,  but  he  really  could  not  doubt 
Before  going  home  that  afternoon  she  accompanied 
Lester  to  a  department  store,  where  she  was  fitted  out 
with  a  trunk,  a  suit-case,  and  a  traveling  suit  and  hat. 
Lester  was  very  proud  of  his  prize.  "When  we  get  to 
New  York  I  am  going  to  get  you  some  real  things,"  he 
told  her.  "I  am  going  to  show  you  what  you  can  be 
made  to  look  like."  He  had  all  the  purchased  articles 
packed  in  the  trunk  and  sent  to  his  hotel.  Then  he 
arranged  to  have  Jennie  come  there  and  dress  Monday 
for  the  trip  which  began  in  the  afternoon. 

When  she  came  home  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  who  was  in  the 
kitchen,  received  her  with  her  usual  affectionate  greet- 
ing. "Have  you  been  working  very  hard?"  she  asked. 
"You  look  tired." 

"No,"  she  said,  "I'm  not  tired.  It  isn't  that.  I 
just  don't  feel  good." 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"Oh,  I  have  to  tell  you  something,  mamma.  It's  so 
hard."  She  paused,  looking  inquiringly  at  her  mother, 
and  then  away. 

"Why,  what  is  it?"  asked  her  mother  nervously.  So 
many  things  had  happened  in  the  past  that  she  was 
always  on  the  alert  for  some  new  calamity.  "You 
haven't  lost  your  place,  have  you?" 

167  ' 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"No,"  replied  Jennie,  with  an  effort  to  maintain  hei 
mental  poise,  "but  I'm  going  to  leave  it." 

"No!"  exclaimed  her  mother.     "Why?" 

"I'm  going  to  New  York." 

Her  mother's  eyes  opened  widely.  "Why,  when  did 
you  decide  to  do  that?"  she  inquired. 

"To-day." 

"You  don't  mean  it!" 

"Yes,  I  do,  mamma.  Listen.  I've  got  something  I 
want  to  tell  you.  You  know  how  poor  we  are.  There 
isn't  any  way  we  can  make  things  come  out  right.  I 
have  found  some  one  who  wants  to  help  us.  He  says  he 
loves  me,  and  he  wants  me  to  go  to  New  York  with  him 
Monday.  I've  decided  to  go." 

"Oh,  Jennie!"  exclaimed  her  mother.  "Surely  not! 
You  wouldn't  do  anything  like  that  after  all  that's  hap- 
pened. Think  of  your  father." 

"I've  thought  it  all  out,"  went  on  Jennie,  firmly. 
"  It's  really  for  the  best.  He's  a  good  man.  I  know  he 
is.  He  has  lots  of  money.  He  wants  me  to  go  with  him, 
and  I'd  better  go.  He  will  take  a  new  house  for  us 
when  we  come  back  and  help  us  to  get  along.  No  one 
will  ever  have  me  as  a  wife — you  know  that.  It  might 
as  well  be  this  way.  He  loves  me.  And  I  love  him. 
Why  shouldn't  I  go?" 

"Does  he  know  about  Vesta?"  asked  her  mother 
cautiously. 

"No,"  said  Jennie  guiltily.  "I  thought  I'd  better 
not  tell  him  about  her.  She  oughtn't  to  be  brought  into 
it  if  I  can  help  it." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  storing  up  trouble  for  yourself, 
Jennie,"  said  her  mother.  "Don't  you  think  he  is  sure 
to  find  it  out  some  time?" 

"I  thought  maybe  that  she  could  be  kept  here,"  sug- 
gested Jennie,  "until  she's  old  enough  to  go  to  school. 
Then  maybe  I  could  send  her  somewhere." 

"She  might,"  assented  her  mother;  "but  don't  you 

1 68 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

think  it  would  be  better  to  tell  him  now?  He  won't 
think  any  the  worse  of  you." 

"It  isn't  that.  It's  her,"  said  Jennie  passionately. 
"  I  don't  want  her  to  be  brought  into  it." 

Her  mother  shook  her  head.  "Where  did  you  meet 
him?"  she  inquired. 

"At  Mrs.  Bracebridge's." 

"How  long  ago?" 

"  Oh,  it's  been  almost  two  months  now." 

"And  you  never  said  anything  about  him,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Gerhardt  reproachfully. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  he  cared  for  me  this  way,"  said 
Jennie  defensively. 

"Why  didn't  you  wait  and  let  him  come  out  here 
first  ?"  asked  her  mother.  "  It  will  make  things  so  much 
easier.  You  can't  go  and  not  have  your  father  find 
out." 

"  I  thought  I'd  say  I  was  going  with  Mrs.  Bracebridge. 
Papa  can't  object  to  my  going  with  her." 

"No,"  agreed  her  mother  thoughtfully. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Mrs. 
Gerhardt,  with  her  imaginative  nature,  endeavored  to 
formulate  some  picture  of  this  new  and  wonderful  per- 
sonality that  had  come  into  Jennie's  life.  He  was 
wealthy;  he  wanted  to  take  Jennie;  he  wanted  to  give 
them  a  good  home.  What  a  story! 

"And  he  gave  me  this,"  put  in  Jennie,  who,  with  some 
instinctive  psychic  faculty,  had  been  following  her 
mother's  mood.  She  opened  her  dress  at  the  neck,  and 
took  out  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars;  she  placed 
the  money  in  her  mother's  hands. 

The  latter  stared  at  it  wide-eyed.  Here  was  the  relief 
for  all  her  woes — food,  clothes,  rent,  coal — all  done  up 
in  one  small  package  of  green  and  yellow  bills.  If  there 
were  plenty  of  money  in  the  house  Gerhardt  need  not 
worry  about  his  burned  hands;  George  and  Martha  and 
Veronica  could  be  clothed  in  comfort  and  made  happy. 

169 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Jennie  could  dress  better;  there  would  be  a  future  educa- 
tion for  Vesta. 

"Do  you  think  he  might  ever  want  to  marry  you?" 
asked  her  mother  finally. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Jennie  "he  might.  I  know 
he  loves  me." 

"Well,"  said  her  mother  after  a  long  pause,  "if 
you're  going  to  tell  your  father  you'd  better  do  it  right 
away.  He'll  think  it's  strange  as  it  is." 

Jennie  realized  that  she  had  won.  Her  mother  had 
acquiesced  from  sheer  force  of  circumstances.  She  was 
sorry,  but  somehow  it  seemed  to  be  for  the  best.  "I'll 
help  you  out  with  it,"  her  mother  had  concluded,  with  a 
little  sigh. 

The  difficulty  of  telling  this  lie  was  very  great  for  Mrs. 
Gerhardt,  but  she  went  through  the  falsehood  with  a 
seeming  nonchalance  which  allayed  Gerhardt 's  suspicions. 
The  children  were  also  told,  and  when,  after  the  general 
discussion,  Jennie  repeated  the  falsehood  to  her  father 
it  seemed  natural  enough. 

" How  long  do  you  think  you'll  be  gone?"  he  inquired. 

"About  two  or  three  weeks,"  she  replied. 

"That's  a  nice  trip,"  he  said.  "I  came  through 
New  York  in  1844.  It  was  a  small  place  then  com- 
pared to  what  it  is  now." 

Secretly  he  was  pleased  that  Jennie  should  have  this 
fine  chance.  Her  employer  must  like  her. 

When  Monday  came  Jennie  bade  her  parents  good-by 
and  left  early,  going  straight  to  the  Dornton,  where  Les- 
ter awaited  her. 

"So  you  came,"  he  said  gaily,  greeting  her  as  she 
entered  the  ladies'  parlor. 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply. 

"You  are  my  niece,"  he  went  on.  "I  have  engaged 
H  room  for  you  near  mine.  I'll  call  for  the  key,  and  you 
go  dress.  When  you're  ready  I'll  have  the  trunk  sent 
to  the  depot.  The  train  leaves  at  one  o'clock." 

170 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

She  went  to  her  room  and  dressed,  while  he  fidgeted 
about,  read,  smoked,  and  finally  knocked  at  her  door. 

She  replied  by  opening  to  him,  fully  clad. 

"  You  look  charming,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

She  looked  down,  for  she  was  nervous  and  distraught. 
The  whole  process  of  planning,  lying,  nerving  herself  to 
carry  out  her  part  had  been  hard  on  her.  She  looked 
tired  and  worried. 

"Not  grieving,  are  you?"  he  asked,  seeing  how  things 
stood. 

"No-o,"  she  replied. 

"Come  now,  sweet.  You  mustn't  feel  this  way.  It's 
coming  out  all  right."  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her,  and  they  strolled  down  the  hall.  He  was 
astonished  to  see  how  well  she  looked  in  even  these 
simple  clothes — the  best  she  had  ever  had. 

They  reached  the  depot  after  a  short  carriage  ride. 
The  accommodations  had  been  arranged  for  before  hand,, 
and  Kane  had  allowed  just  enough  time  to  make  the  train. 
When  they  settled  themselves  in  a  Pullman  state-room 
it  was  with  a  keen  sense  of  satisfaction  on  his  part.  Life 
looked  rosy.  Jennie  was  beside  him.  He  had  succeeded 
in  what  he  had  started  out  to  do.  So  might  it  always 
be. 

As  the  train  rolled  out  of  the  depot  and  the  long  reaches 
of  the  fields  succeeded  Jennie  studied  them  wistfully. 
There  were  the  forests,  leafless  and  bare;  the  wide,  brown 
fields,  wet  with  the  rains  of  winter;  the  low  farm-houses 
sitting  amid  flat  stretches  of  prairie,  their  low  roofs 
making  them  look  as  if  they  were  hugging  the  ground. 
The  train  roared  past  little  hamlets,  with  cottages  of 
white  and  yellow  and  drab,  their  roofs  blackened  by 
frost  and  rain.  Jennie  noted  one  in  particular  which 
seemed  to  recall  the  old  neighborhood  where  they  used 
to  live  at  Columbus;  she  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes  and  began  silently  to  cry. 

"I  hope  you're  not  crying,  are  you,  Jennie?"  said 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Lester,  looking  up  suddenly  from  the  letter  he  had  been 
reading.  "Come,  come,"  he  went  on  as  he  saw  a  faint 
tremor  shaking  her.  "This  won't  do.  You  have  to  do 
better  than  this.  You'll  never  get  along  if  you  act  that 
way." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  the  depth  of  her  silent  grief 
filled  him  with  strange  sympathies. 

"Don't  cry,"  he  continued  soothingly;  "everything 
will  be  all  right.  I  told  you  that.  You  needn't  worry 
about  anything." 

Jennie  made  a  great  effort  to  recover  herself,  and  be- 
gan to  dry  her  eyes. 

"  You  don't  want  to  give  way  like  that,"  he  continued. 
"  It  doesn't  do  you  any  good.  I  know  how  you  feel  about 
leaving  home,  but  tears  won't  help  it  any.  It  isn't  as 
if  you  were  going  away  for  good,  you  know.  Besides, 
you'll  be  going  back  shortly.  You  care  for  me,  don't 
you,  sweet?  I'm  something?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  managed  to  smile  back  at  him. 

Lester  returned  to  his  correspondence  and  Jennie  fell 
to  thinking  of  Vesta.  It  troubled  her  to  realize  that  she 
was  keeping  this  secret  from  one  who  was  already  very 
dear  to  her.  She  knew  that  she  ought  to  tell  Lester 
about  the  child,  but  she  shrank  from  the  painful  ne- 
cessity. Perhaps  later  on  she  might  find  the  courage  to 
do  it. 

"I'll  have  to  tell  him  something,"  she  thought  with  a 
sudden  upwelling  of  feeling  as  regarded  the  seriousness 
of  this  duty.  "  If  I  don't  do  it  soon  and  I  should  go  and 
live  with  him  and  he  should  find  it  out  he  would  never 
forgive  me.  He  might  turn  me  out,  and  then  where 
would  I  go?  I  have  no  home  now.  What  would  I  do 
with  Vesta?" 

She  turned  to  contemplate  him,  a  premonitory  wave  of 
terror  sweeping  over  her,  but  she  only  saw  that  imposing 
and  comfort-loving  soul  quietly  reading  his  letters,  his 
smoothly  shaved  red  cheek  and  comfortable  head  and 

172 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

body  looking  anything  but  militant  or  like  an  avenging 
Nemesis.  She  was  just  withdrawing  her  gaze  when  he 
looked  up. 

"Well,  have  you  washed  all  your  sins  away?"  he  in- 
quired merrily. 

She  smiled  faintly  at  the  allusion.  The  touch  of 
fact  in  it  made  it  slightly  piquant. 

"I  expect  so,"  she  replied. 

He  turned  to  some  other  topic,  while  she  looked  out 
of  the  window,  the  realization  that  one  impulse  to  tell 
him  had  proved  unavailing  dwelling  in  her  mind.  "I'll 
have  to  do  it  shortly,"  she  thought,  and  consoled  herself 
with  the  idea  that  she  would  surely  find  courage  before 
long. 

Their  arrival  in  New  York  the  next  day  raised  the 
important  question  in  Lester's  mind  as  to  where  he 
should  stop.  New  York  was  a  very  large  place,  and  he 
was  not  in  much  danger  of  encountering  people  who 
would  know  him,  but  he  thought  it  just  as  well  not  to 
take  chances.  Accordingly  he  had  the  cabman  drive 
them  to  one  of  the  more  exclusive  apartment  hotels, 
where  he  engaged  a  suite  of  rooms;  and  they  settled 
themselves  for  a  stay  of  two  or  three  weeks. 

This  atmosphere  into  which  Jennie  was  now  plunged 
was  so  wonderful,  so  illuminating,  that  she  could  scarcely 
believe  this  was  the  same  world  that  she  had  inhabited 
before.  Kane  was  no  lover  of  vulgar  display.  The 
appointments  with  which  he  surrounded  himself  were 
always  simple  and  elegant.  He  knew  at  a  glance  what 
Jennie  needed,  and  bought  for  her  with  discrimination 
and  care.  And  Jennie,  a  woman,  took  a  keen  pleasure 
in  the  handsome  gowns  and  pretty  fripperies  that  he 
lavished  upon  her.  Could  this  be  really  Jennie  Gerhardt, 
the  washerwoman's  daughter,  she  asked  herself,  as  she 
gazed  in  her  mirror  at  the  figure  of  a  girl  clad  in  blue 
velvet,  with  yellow  French  lace  at  her  throat  and  upon 

173 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

her  arms?  Could  these  be  her  feet,  clad  in  soft  shapely 
shoes  at  ten  dollars  a  pair,  these  her  hands  adorned  with 
flashing  jewels  ?  What  wonderful  good  fortune  she  was 
enjoying!  And  Lester  had  promised  that  her  mother 
would  share  in  it.  Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  at  the 
thought.  The  dear  mother,  how  she  loved  her! 

It  was  Lester's  pleasure  in  these  days  to  see  what  he 
could  do  to  make  her  look  like  some  one  truly  worthy  of 
"him.  He  exercised  his  most  careful  judgment,  and  the 
result  surprised  even  himself.  People  turned  in  the 
halls,  in  the  dining-rooms,  and  on  the  street  to  gaze  at 
Jennie. 

"A  stunning  woman  that  man  has  with  him,"  was  a 
frequent  comment. 

Despite  her  altered  state  Jennie  did  not  lose  her 
judgment  of  life  or  her  sense  of  perspective  or  propor- 
tion. She  felt  as  though  life  were  tentatively  loaning 
her  something  which  would  be  taken  away  after  a  time. 
There  was  no  pretty  vanity  in  her  bosom.  Lester  real- 
ized this  as  he  watched  her.  "You're  a  big  woman,  in 
your  way,"  he  said.  "You'll  amount  to  something. 
Life  hasn't  given  you  much  of  a  deal  up  to  now." 

He  wondered  how  he  could  justify  this  new  relation* 
ship  to  his  family,  should  they  chance  to  hear  about  it. 
If  he  should  decide  to  take  a  home  in  Chicago  or  St. 
Louis  (there  was  such  a  thought  running  in  his  mind) 
could  he  maintain  it  secretly?  Did  he  want  to?  He 
was  half  persuaded  that  he  really,  truly  loved  her. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  their  return  he  began  to 
counsel  her  as  to  her  future  course  of  action.  "You 
ought  to  find  some  way  of  introducing  me,  as  an  ac- 
quaintance, to  your  father,"  he  said.  "It  will  ease 
matters  up.  I  think  I'll  call.  Then  if  you  tell  him 
you're  going  to  marry  me  he'll  think  nothing  of  it." 
Jennie  thought  of  Vesta,  and  trembled  inwardly.  But 
perhaps  her  father  could  be  induced  to  remain  silent. 

Lester  had  made  the  wise  suggestion  that  she  should 

174 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

retain  the  clothes  she  had  worn  in  Cleveland  in  order 
that  she  might  wear  them  home  when  she  reached  there. 
"There  won't  be  any  trouble  about  this  other  stuff,"  he 
said.  "  I'll  have  it  cared  for  until  we  make  some  other 
arrangement."  It  was  all  very  simple  and  easy;  he 
was  a  master  strategist. 

Jennie  had  written  her  mother  almost  daily  since  she 
had  been  East.  She  had  inclosed  little  separate  notes 
to  be  read  by  Mrs.  Gerhardt  only.  In  one  she  explained 
Lester's  desire  to  call,  and  urged  her  mother  to  prepare 
the  way  by  telling  her  father  that  she  had  met  some 
one  who  liked  her.  She  spoke  of  the  difficulty  concern- 
ing Vesta,  and  her  mother  at  once  began  to  plan  a  cam- 
paign to  have  Gerhardt  hold  his  peace.  There  must  be 
no  hitch  now.  Jennie  must  be  given  an  opportunity  to 
better  herself.  When  she  returned  there  was  great  re- 
joicing. Of  course  she  could  not  go  back  to  her  work, 
but  Mrs.  Gerhardt  explained  that  Mrs.  Bracebridge  had 
given  Jennie  a  few  weeks'  vacation  in  order  that  she 
might  look  for  something  better,  something  at  which  r>he 
could  make  more  money. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

r  I  ^HE  problem  of  the  Gerhardt  family  and  its  relation- 
1  ship  to  himself  comparatively  settled,  Kane  betook 
himself  to  Cincinnati  and  to  his  business  duties.  He  was 
heartily  interested  in  the  immense  plant,  which  occupied 
two  whole  blocks  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and  its 
conduct  and  development  was  as  much  a  problem  and  a 
pleasure  to  him  as  to  either  his  father  or  his  brother. 
He  liked  to  feel  that  he  was  a  vital  part  of  this  great  and 
growing  industry.  When  he  saw  freight  cars  going  by 
on  the  railroads  labelled  "The  Kane  Manufacturing 
Company — Cincinnati"  or  chanced  to  notice  displays 
of  the  company's  products  in  the  windows  of  carriage 
sales  companies  in  the  different  cities  he  was  conscious  of 
a  warm  glow  of  satisfaction.  It  was  something  to  be  a 
factor  in  an  institution  so  stable,  so  distinguished,  so 
honestly  worth  while.  This  was  all  very  well,  but  now 
Kane  was  entering  upon  a  new  phase  of  his  personal 
existence — in  a  word,  there  was  Jennie.  He  was  con- 
scious as  he  rode  toward  his  home  city  that  he  was  en- 
tering on  a  relationship  which  might  involve  disagree- 
able consequences.  He  was  a  little  afraid  of  his  father's 
attitude;  above  all,  there  was  his  brother  Robert. 

Robert  was  cold  and  conventional  in  character;  an 
excellent  business  man ;  irreproachable  in  both  his  public 
and  in  his  private  life.  Never  overstepping  the  strict 
boundaries  of  legal  righteousness,  he  was  neither  warm- 
hearted nor  generous — in  fact,  he  would  turn  any  trick 
which  could  be  speciously,  or  at  best  necessitously, 
recommended  to  his  conscience.  How  he  reasoned 

176 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Lester  did  not  know — he  could  not  follow  the  ramifica- 
tions of  a  logic  which  could  combine  hard  business  tactics 
with  moral  rigidity,  but  somehow  his  brother  managed 
to  do  it.  "He's  got  a  Scotch  Presbyterian  conscience 
mixed  with  an  Asiatic  perception  of  the  main  chance." 
Lester  once  told  somebody,  and  he  had  the  situation 
accurately  measured.  Nevertheless  he  could  not  rout 
his  brother  from  his  positions  nor  defy  him,  for  he  had 
the  public  conscience  with  him.  He  was  in  line  with 
convention  practically,  and  perhaps  sophisticatedly. 

The  two  brothers  were  outwardly  friendly;  inwardly 
they  were  far  apart.  Robert  liked  Lester  well  enough 
personally,  but  he  did  not  trust  his  financial  judgment, 
and,  temperamentally,  they  did  not  agree  as  to  how  life 
and  its  affairs  should  be  conducted.  Lester  had  a  secret 
contempt  for  his  brother's  chill,  persistent  chase  of  the 
almighty  dollar.  Robert  was  sure  that  Lester's  easy- 
going ways  were  reprehensible,  and  bound  to  create 
trouble  sooner  or  later.  In  the  business  they  did  not 
quarrel  much — there  was  not  so  much  chance  with  the 
old  gentleman  still  in  charge — but  there  were  certain 
minor  differences  constantly  cropping  up  which  showed 
which  way  the  wind  blew.  Lester  was  for  building  up 
trade  through  friendly  relationship,  concessions,  per- 
sonal contact,  and  favors.  Robert  was  for  pulling 
everything  tight,  cutting  down  the  cost  of  production, 
and  offering  such  financial  inducements  as  would  throttle 
competition. 

The  old  manufacturer  always  did  his  best  to  pour  oil 
on  these  troubled  waters,  but  he  foresaw  an  eventual 
clash.  One  or  the  other  would  have  to  get  out  or  per- 
haps both.  "  If  only  you  two  boys  could  agree ! "  he  used 
to  say. 

Another  thing  which  disturbed  Lester  was  his  father's 
attitude  on  the  subject  of  marriage — Lester's  marriage, 
to  be  specific.  Archibald  Kane  never  ceased  to  insist  on 
the  fact  that  Lester  ought  to  get  married,  and  that  he 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

was  making  a  big  mistake  in  putting  it  off.  All  the 
other  children,  save  Louise,  were  safely  married.  Why 
not  his  favorite  son  ?  It  was  doing  him  injury  morally, 
socially,  commercially,  that  he  was  sure  of. 

"The  world  expects  it  of  a  man  in  your  position,"  his 
father  had  argued  from  time  to  time.  "It  makes  for 
social  solidity  and  prestige.  You  ought  to  pick  out  a 
good  woman  and  raise  a  family.  Where  will  you  be 
when  you  get  to  my  time  of  life  if  you  haven't  any 
children,  any  home?" 

"Well,  if  the  right  woman  came  along,"  said  Lester, 
"I  suppose  I'd  marry  her.  But  she  hasn't  come  along. 
What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  Take  anybody?" 

"No,  not  anybody,  of  course,  but  there  are  lots  of 
good  women.  You  can  surely  find  some  one  if  you  try. 
There's  that  Pace  girl.  What  about  her?  You  used  to 
like  her.  I  wouldn't  drift  on  this  way,  Lester;  it  can't 
come  to  any  good." 

His  son  would  only  smile.  "There,  father,  let  it  go 
now.  I'll  come  around  some  time,  no  doubt.  I've  got 
to  be  thirsty  when  I'm  led  to  water." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  over,  time  and  again,  but  it 
was  a  sore  point  with  him.  He  wanted  his  son  to  settle 
down  and  be  a  real  man  of  affairs. 

The  fact  that  such  a  situation  as  this  might  militate 
against  any  permanent  arrangement  with  Jennie  was 
obvious  even  to  Lester  at  this  time.  He  thought  out  his 
course  of  action  carefully.  Of  course  he  would  not  give 
Jennie  up,  whatever  the  possible  consequences.  But  he 
must  be  cautious;  he  must  take  no  unnecessary  risks. 
Could  he  bring  her  to  Cincinnati  ?  What  a  scandal  if  it 
were  ever  found  out!  Could  he  install  her  in  a  nice 
home  somewhere  near  the  city?  The  family  would 
probably  eventually  suspect  something.  Could  he  take 
her  along  on  his  numerous  business  journeys?  This 
first  one  to  New  York  had  been  successful.  Would  it 
always  be  so  ?  He  turned  the  question  over  in  his  mind. 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

The  very  difficulty  gave  it  zest.  Perhaps  St.  Louis,  or 
Pittsburg,  or  Chicago  would  be  best  after  all.  He  went 
to  these  places  frequently,  and  particularly  to  Chicago. 
He  decided  finally  that  it  should  be  Chicago  if  he  could 
arrange  it.  He  could  always  make  excuses  to  run  up 
there,  and  it  was  only  a  night's  ride.  Yes,  Chicago  was 
best.  The  very  size  and  activity  of  the  city  made  con- 
cealment easy.  After  two  weeks'  stay  at  Cincinnati  Les- 
ter wrote  Jennie  that  he  was  coming  to  Cleveland  soon, 
and  she  answered  that  she  thought  it  would  be  all  right 
for  him  to  call  and  see  her.  Her  father  had  been  told 
about  him.  She  had  felt  it  unwise  to  stay  about  the 
house,  and  so  had  secured  a  position  in  a  store  at  four 
dollars  a  week.  He  smiled  as  he  thought  of  her  working, 
and  yet  the  decency  and  energy  of  it  appealed  to  him. 
"She's  all  right,"  he  said.  "She's  the  best  I've  come 
across  yet." 

He  ran  up  to  Cleveland  the  following  Saturday,  and, 
calling  at  her  place  of  business,  he  made  an  appointment 
to  see  her  that  evening.  He  was  anxious  that  his  intro- 
duction, as  her  beau,  should  be  gotten  over  with  as 
quickly  as  possible.  When  he  did  call  the  shabbiness 
of  the  house  and  the  manifest  poverty  of  the  family 
rather  disgusted  him,  but  somehow  Jennie  seemed  as 
sweet  to  him  as  ever.  Gerhardt  came  in  the  front-room, 
after  he  had  been  there  a  few  minutes,  and  shook  hands 
with  him,  as  did  also  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  but  Lester  paid 
little  attention  to  them.  The  old  German  appeared  to 
him  to  be  merely  commonplace — the  sort  of  man  who 
was  hired  by  hundreds  in  common  capacities  in  his 
father's  factory.  After  some  desultory  conversation 
Lester  suggested  to  Jennie  that  they  should  go  for  a 
drive.  Jennie  put  on  her  hat,  and  together  they  de- 
parted. As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  went  to  an  apart- 
ment which  he  had  hired  for  the  storage  of  her  clothes. 
When  she  returned  at  eight  in  the  evening  the  family 
considered  it  nothing  amiss. 
13  179 


CHAPTER    XXV 

A  MONTH  later  Jennie  was  able  to  announce  that 
Lester  intended  to  marry  her.  His  visits  had  of 
course  paved  the  way  for  this,  and  it  seemed  natural 
enough.  Only  Gerhardt  seemed  a  little  doubtful.  He 
did  not  know  just  how  this  might  be.  Perhaps  it  was 
all  right.  Lester  seemed  a  fine  enough  man  in  all  con- 
science, and  really,  after  Brander,  why  not  ?  If  a  United 
States  Senator  could  fall  in  love  with  Jennie,  why  not  a 
business  man?  There  was  just  one  thing — the  child. 
"Has  she  told  him  about  Vesta?"  he  asked  his  wife. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Gerhardt,  "not  yet." 

"Not  yet,  not  yet.  Always  something  underhanded. 
Do  you  think  he  wants  her  if  he  knows?  That's  what 
comes  of  such  conduct  in  the  first  place.  Now  she  has 
to  slip  around  like  a  thief.  The  child  cannot  even  have 
an  honest  name." 

Gerhardt  went  back  to  his  newspaper  reading  and 
brooding.  His  life  seemed  a  complete  failure  to  him 
and  he  was  only  waiting  to  get  well  enough  to  hunt  up 
another  job  as  watchman.  He  wanted  to  get  out  of  this 
mess  of  deception  and  dishonesty. 

A  week  or  two  later  Jennie  confided  to  her  mother  that 
Lester  had  written  her  to  join  him  in  Chicago.  He  was 
not  feeling  well,  and  could  not  come  to  Cleveland.  The 
two  women  explained  to  Gerhardt  that  Jennie  was  going 
away  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Kane.  Gerhardt  flared  up  at 
this,  and  his  suspicions  were  again  aroused.  But  he 
could  do  nothing  but  grumble  over  the  situation;  it 
would  lead  to  no  good  end,  of  that  he  was  sure. 

180 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

When  the  day  came  for  Jennie's  departure  she  had 
to  go  without  saying  farewell  to  her  father.  He  was 
out  looking  for  work  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  be- 
fore he  had  returned  she  had  been  obliged  to  leave  for 
the  station.  "I  will  write  a  note  to  him  when  I  get 
there/'  she  said.  She  kissed  her  baby  over  and  over. 
"Lester  will  take  a  better  house  for  us  soon,"  she  went 
on  hopefully.  "He  wants  us  to  move."  The  night 
train  bore  her  to  Chicago;  the  old  life  had  ended  and 
the  new  one  had  begun. 

The  curious  fact  should  be  recorded  here  that,  although 
Lester's  generosity  had  relieved  the  stress  upon  the 
family  finances,  the  children  and  Gerhardt  were  actually 
none  the  wiser.  It  was  easy  for  Mrs.  Gerhardt  to  de- 
ceive her  husband  as  to  the  purchase  of  necessities  and 
she  had  not  as  yet  indulged  in  any  of  the  fancies  which 
an  enlarged  purse  permitted.  Fear  deterred  her.  But, 
after  Jennie  had  been  in  Chicago  for  a  few  days,  she 
wrote  to  her  mother  saying  that  Lester  wanted  them 
to  take  a  new  home.  This  letter  was  shown  to  Gerhardt, 
who  had  been  merely  biding  her  return  to  make  a  scene. 
He  frowned,  but  somehow  it  seemed  an  evidence  of 
regularity.  If  he  had  not  married  her  why  should  he 
want  to  help  them?  Perhaps  Jennie  was  well  married 
after  all.  Perhaps  she  really  had  been  lifted  to  a  high 
station  in  life,  and  was  now  able  to  help  the  family. 
Gerhardt  almost  concluded  to  forgive  her  everything 
once  and  for  all. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  a  new  house  was  decided  upon, 
and  Jennie  returned  to  Cleveland  to  help  her  mother 
move.  Together  they  searched  the  streets  for  a  nice, 
quiet  neighborhood,  and  finally  found  one.  A  house  of 
nine  rooms,  with  a  yard,  which  rented  for  thirty  dollars, 
was  secured  and  suitably  furnished.  There  were  com- 
fortable fittings  for  the  dining-room  and  sitting-room, 
a  handsome  parlor  set  and  bedroom  sets  complete  for 
each  room.  The  kitchen  was  supplied  with  every  con- 

181 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

venience,  and  there  was  even  a  bath-room,  a  luxury  the 
Gerhardts  had  never  enjoyed  before.  Altogether  the 
house  was  attractive,  though  plain,  and  Jennie  was 
happy  to  know  that  her  family  could  be  comfortable 
in  it. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  actual  moving  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt  was  fairly  beside  herself  with  joy,  for  was  not  this 
the  realization  of  her  dreams?  All  through  the  long 
years  of  her  life  she  had  been  waiting,  and  now  it  had 
come.  A  new  house,  new  furniture,  plenty  of  room — 
things  finer  than  she  had  ever  even  imagined — think  of 
it!  Her  eyes  shone  as  she  looked  at  the  new  beds  and 
tables  and  bureaus  and  whatnots.  "Dear,  dear,  isn't 
this  nice!"  she  exclaimed.  "  Isn't  it  beautiful !"  Jennie 
smiled  and  tried  to  pretend  satisfaction  without  emotion, 
but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  She  was  so  glad  for 
her  mother's  sake.  She  could  have  kissed  Lester's  feet 
for  his  goodness  to  her  family. 

The  day  the  furniture  was  moved  in  Mrs.  Gerhardt, 
Martha,  and  Veronica  were  on  hand  to  clean  and  arrange 
things.  At  the  sight  of  the  large  rooms  and  pretty  yard, 
bare  enough  in  winter,  but  giving  promise  of  a  delightful 
greenness  in  spring,  and  the  array  of  new  furniture 
standing  about  in  excelsior,  the  whole  family  fell  into 
a  fever  of  delight.  Such  beauty,  such  spaciousness! 
George  rubbed  his  feet  over  the  new  carpets  and  Bass 
examined  the  quality  of  the  furniture  critically.  "  Swell," 
was  his  comment.  Mrs.  Gerhardt  roved  to  and  fro  like 
a  person  in  a  dream.  She  could  not  believe  that  these 
bright  bedrooms,  this  beautiful  parlor,  this  handsome 
dining-room  were  actually  hers. 

Gerhardt  came  last  of  all.  Although  he  tried  hard 
not  to  show  it,  he,  too,  could  scarcely  refrain  from  en- 
thusiastic comment.  The  sight  of  an  opal-globed  chan- 
delier over  the  dining-room  table  was  the  finishing  touch. 

"Gas,  yet!"  he  said. 

He  looked  grimly  around,  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows, 

182 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

at  the  new  carpets  under  his  feet,  the  long  oak  extension 
table  covered  with  a  white  cloth  and  set  with  new  dishes, 
at  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  the  bright,  clean  kitchen. 
He  shook  his  head.  "By  chops,  it's  fine!"  he  said. 
"It's  very  nice.  Yes,  it's  very  nice.  We  want  to  be 
careful  now  not  to  break  anything.  It's  so  easy  to 
scratch  things  up,  and  then  it's  all  over." 
Yes,  even  Gerhardt  was  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IT  would  be  useless  to  chronicle  the  events  of  the 
three  years  that  followed  —  events  and  experiences 
by  which  the  family  grew  from  an  abject  condition  of 
want  to  a  state  of  comparative  self-reliance,  based,  of 
course,  on  the  obvious  prosperity  of  Jennie  and  the 
generosity  (through  her)  of  her  distant  husband.  Lester 
was  seen  now  and  then,  a  significant  figure,  visiting 
Cleveland,  and  sometimes  coming  out  to  the  house  where 
he  occupied  with  Jennie  the  two  best  rooms  of  the 
second  floor.  There  were  hurried  trips  on  her  part — in 
answer  to  telegraph  massages — to  Chicago,  to  St.  Louis, 
to  New  York.  One  of  his  favorite  pastimes  was  to  en- 
gage quarters  at  the  great  resorts — Hot  Springs,  Mt. 
Clemens,  Saratoga — and  for  a  period  of  a  week  or  two 
at  a  stretch  enjoy  the  luxury  of  living  with  Jennie  as 
his  wife.  There  were  other  times  when  he  would  pass 
through  Cleveland  only  for  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  for 
a  day.  All  the  time  he  was  aware  that  he  was  throwing 
on  her  the  real  burden  of  a  rather  difficult  situation,  but 
he  did  not  see  how  he  could  remedy  it  at  this  time.  He 
was  not  sure  as  yet  that  he  really  wanted  to.  They  were 
getting  along  fairly  well. 

The  attitude  of  the  Gerhardt  family  toward  this  con- 
dition of  affairs  was  peculiar.  At  first,  in  spite  of  the 
irregularity  of  it,  it  seemed  natural  enough.  Jennie 
said  she  was  married.  No  one  had  seen  her  marriage 
certificate,  but  she  said  so,  and  she  seemed  to  carry  herself 
with  the  air  of  one  who  holds  that  relationship.  Still,  she 
never  went  to  Cincinnati,  where  his  family  lived,  and  none 

184 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

of  his  relatives  ever  came  near  her.  Then,  too,  his 
attitude,  in  spite  of  the  money  which  had  first  blinded 
them,  was  peculiar.  He  really  did  not  carry  himself 
like  a  married  man.  He  was  so  indifferent.  There  were 
weeks  in  which  she  appeared  to  receive  only  perfunctory 
notes.  There  were  times  when  she  would  only  go  away 
for  a  few  days  to  meet  him.  Then  there  were  the  long 
periods  in  which  she  absented  herself — the  only  worth- 
while testimony  toward  a  real  relationship,  and  that,  in  a 
way,  unnatural. 

Bass,  who  had  grown  to  be  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
five,  with  some  business  judgment  and  a  desire  to  get  out 
in  the  world,  was  suspicious.  He  had  come  to  have  a 
pretty  keen  knowledge  of  life,  and  intuitively  he  felt  that 
things  were  not  right.  George,  nineteen,  who  had  gained 
a  slight  foothold  in  a  wall-paper  factory  and  was  looking 
forward  to  a  career  in  that  field,  was  also  restless.  He 
felt  that  something  was  wrong.  Martha,  seventeen,  was 
still  in  school,  as  were  William  and  Veronica.  Each  was 
offered  an  opportunity  to  study  indefinitely;  but  there 
was  unrest  with  life.  They  knew  about  Jennie's  child. 
The  neighbors  were  obviously  drawing  conclusions  for 
themselves.  They  had  few  friends.  Gerhardt  himself 
finally  concluded  that  there  was  something  wrong,  but 
he  had  let  himself  into  this  situation,  and  was  not  in 
much  of  a  position  now  to  raise  an  argument.  He 
wanted  to  ask  her  at  times — proposed  to  make  her  do 
better  if  he  could — but  the  worst  had  already  been  done. 
It  depended  on  the  man  now,  he  knew  that. 

Things  were  gradually  nearing  a  state  where  a  general 
upheaval  would  have  taken  place  had  not  life  stepped  in 
with  one  of  its  fortuitous  solutions.  Mrs.  Gerhardt 's 
health  failed.  Although  stout  and  formerly  of  a  fairly 
active  disposition,  she  had  of  late  years  become  decidedly 
sedentary  in  her  habits  and  grown  weak,  which,  coupled 
with  a  mind  naturally  given  to  worry,  and  weighed  upon 
as  it  had  been  by  a  number  of  serious  and  disturbing  ills, 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

seemed  now  to  culminate  in  a  slow  but  very  certain  case 
of  systemic  poisoning.  She  became  decidedly  sluggish 
in  her  motions,  wearied  more  quickly  at  the  few  tasks 
left  for  her  to  do,  and  finally  complained  to  Jennie  that 
it  was  very  hard  for  her  to  climb  stairs.  "I'm  not 
feeling  well,"  she  said.  "I  think  I'm  going  to  be 
sick." 

Jennie  now  took  alarm  and  proposed  to  take  her  to 
some  near-by  watering-place,  but  Mrs.  Gerhardt  wouldn't 
go.  "I  don't  think  it  would  do  any  good,"  she  said. 
She  sat  about  or  went  driving  with  her  daughter,  but  the 
fading  autumn  scenery  depressed  her.  "I  don't  like 
to  get  sick  in  the  fall,"  she  said.  "The  leaves  com- 
ing down  make  me  think  I  am  never  going  to  get 
well." 

"Oh,  ma,  how  you  talk!"  said  Jennie;  but  she  felt 
frightened,  nevertheless. 

How  much  the  average  home  depends  upon  the  mother 
was  seen  when  it  was  feared  the  end  was  near.  Bass, 
who  had  thought  of  getting  married  and  getting  out  of 
this  atmosphere,  abandoned  the  idea  temporarily.  Ger- 
hardt, shocked  and  greatly  depressed,  hung  about  like 
one  expectant  of  and  greatly  awed  by  the  possibility  of 
disaster.  Jennie,  too  inexperienced  in  death  to  feel  that 
she  could  possibly  lose  her  mother,  felt  as  if  somehow 
her  living  depended  on  her.  Hoping  in  spite  of  all  oppos- 
ing circumstances,  she  hung  about,  a  white  figure  of 
patience,  waiting  and  serving. 

The  end  came  one  morning  after  a  month  of  illness  and 
several  days  of  unconsciousness,  during  which  silence 
reigned  in  the  house  and  all  the  family  went  about  on  tip- 
toe. Mrs.  Gerhardt  passed  away  with  her  dying  gaze 
fastened  on  Jennie's  face  for  the  last  few  minutes  of 
consciousness  that  life  vouchsafed  her.  Jennie  stared 
into  her  eyes  with  a  yearning  horror.  "Oh,  mamma! 
mamma!"  she  cried.  "Oh  no,  no!" 

Gerhardt  came  running  in  from  the  yard,  and,  throwing 

186 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

himself  down  by  the  bedside,  wrung  his  bony  hands  in 
anguish.  "I  should  have  gone  first!"  he  cried.  "I 
should  have  gone  first!" 

The  death  of  Mrs.  Gerhardt  hastened  the  final  breaking 
up  of  the  family.  Bass  was  bent  on  getting  married  at 
once,  having  had  a  girl  in  town  for  some  time.  Martha, 
whose  views  of  life  had  broadened  and  hardened,  was 
anxious  to  get  out  also.  She  felt  that  a  sort  of  stigma 
attached  to  the  home — to  herself,  in  fact,  so  long  as  she 
remained  there.  Martha  looked  to  the  public  schools  as 
a  source  of  income ;  she  was  going  to  be  a  teacher.  Ger- 
hardt alone  scarcely  knew  which  way  to  turn.  He  was 
again  at  work  as  a  night  watchman.  Jennie  found  him 
crying  one  day  alone  in  the  kitchen,  and  immediately 
burst  into  tears  herself.  "Now,  papa!"  she  pleaded, 
"it  isn't  as  bad  as  that.  You  will  always  have  a  home — 
you  know  that — as  long  as  I  have  anything.  You  can 
come  with  me." 

"No,  no,"  he  protested.  He  really  did  not  want  to 
go  with  her.  "It  isn't  that,"  he  continued.  "My 
whole  life  comes  to  nothing." 

It  was  some  little  time  before  Bass,  George  and  Martha 
finally  left,  but,  one  by  one,  they  got  out,  leaving  Jennie, 
her  father,  Veronica,  and  William,  and  one  other — Jen- 
nie's child.  Of  course  Lester  knew  nothing  of  Vesta's 
parentage,  and  curiously  enough  he  had  never  seen  the 
little  girl.  During  the  short  periods  in  which  he  deigned 
to  visit  the  house — two  or  three  days  at  most — Mrs. 
Gerhardt  took  good  care  that  Vesta  was  kept  in  the 
background.  There  was  a  play-room  on  the  top  floor, 
and  also  a  bedroom  there,  and  concealment  was  easy. 
Lester  rarely  left  his  rooms,  he  even  had  his  meals  served 
to  him  in  what  might  have  been  called  the  living-room 
of  the  suite.  He  was  not  at  all  inquisitive  or  anxious  to 
meet  any  one  of  the  other  members  of  the  family.  He 
was  perfectly  willing  to  shake  hands  with  them  or  to 
exchange  a  few  perfunctory  words,  but  perfunctory 

187 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

words  only.  It  was  generally  understood  that  the  child 
must  not  appear,  and  so  it  did  not. 

There  is  an  inexplicable  sympathy  between  old  age 
and  childhood,  an  affinity  which  is  as  lovely  as  it  is 
pathetic.  During  that  first  year  in  Lorrie  Street,  when 
no  one  was  looking,  Gerhardt  often  carried  Vesta  about 
on  his  shoulders  and  pinched  her  soft,  red  cheeks. 
When  she  got  old  enough  to  walk  he  it  was  who,  with  a 
towel  fastened  securely  under  her  arms,  led  her  patiently 
around  the  room  until  she  was  able  to  take  a  few  steps 
of  her  own  accord.  When  she  actually  reached  the 
point  where  she  could  walk  he  was  the  one  who  coaxed 
her  to  the  effort,  shyly,  grimly,  but  always  lovingly. 
By  some  strange  leading  of  fate  this  stigma  on  his 
family's  honor,  this  blotch  on  conventional  morality, 
had  twined  its  helpless  baby  fingers  about  the  tendons 
of  his  heart.  He  loved  this  little  outcast  ardently, 
hopefully.  She  was  the  one  bright  ray  in  a  narrow, 
gloomy  life,  and  Gerhardt  early  took  upon  himself  the 
responsibility  of  her  education  in  religious  matters. 
Was  it  not  he  who  had  insisted  that  the  infant  should 
be  baptized  ? 

"  Say  '  Our  Father/  "  he  used  to  demand  of  the  lisping 
infant  when  he  had  her  alone  with  him. 

"  Ow  Fowvaw,"  was  her  vowel -like  interpretation  of 
his  words. 

"'Who  art  in  heaven.'" 

"'Ooh  ah  in  aven,'"  repeated  the  child. 

"Why  do  you  teach  her  so  early?"  pleaded  Mrs.  Ger- 
hardt, overhearing  the  little  one's  struggles  with  stub- 
born consonants  and  vowels. 

"Because  I  want  she  should  learn  the  Christian 
faith,"  returned  Gerhardt  determinedly.  "She  ought 
to  know  her  prayers.  If  she  don't  begin  now  she  never 
will  know  them." 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  smiled.  Many  of  her  husband's  reli- 
gious idiosyncrasies  were  amusing  to  her.  At  the  same 

188 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

time  she  liked  to  see  this  sympathetic  interest  he  was 
taking  in  the  child's  upbringing.  If  he  were  only  not 
so  hard,  so  narrow  at  times.  He  made  himself  a  tor- 
ment to  himself  and  to  every  one  else. 

On  the  earliest  bright  morning  of  returning  spring 
he  was  wont  to  take  her  for  her  first  little  journeys  in  the 
world.  "Come,  now,"  he  would  say,  "we  will  go  for  a 
little  walk." 

"Walk,"  chirped  Vesta. 

"Yes,  walk,"  echoed  Gerhardt. 

Mrs.  Gerhardt  would  fasten  on  one  of  her  little  hoods, 
for  in  these  days  Jennie  kept  Vesta's  wardrobe  beau- 
tifully replete.  Taking  her  by  the  hand,  Gerhardt 
would  issue  forth,  satisfied  to  drag  first  one  foot  and 
then  the  other  in  order  to  accommodate  his  gait  to  her 
toddling  steps. 

One  beautiful  May  day,  when  Vesta  was  four  years 
old,  they  started  on  one  of  their  walks.  Everywhere 
nature  was  budding  and  bourgeoning;  the  birds  twitter- 
ing their  arrival  from  the  south;  the  insects  making  the 
best  of  their  brief  span  of  life.  Sparrows  chirped  in  the 
road ;  robins  strutted  upon  the  grass ;  bluebirds  built  in 
the  eaves  of  the  cottages.  Gerhardt  took  a  keen  delight 
in  pointing  out  the  wonders  of  nature  to  Vesta,  and  she 
was  quick  to  respond.  Every  new  sight  and  sound  in- 
terested her. 

"Ooh! — ooh!"  exclaimed  Vesta,  catching  sight  of  a 
low,  flashing  touch  of  red  as  a  robin  lighted  upon  a  twig 
nearby.  Her  hand  was  up,  and  her  eyes  were  wide  open. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerhardt,  as  happy  as  if  he  himself  had  but 
newly  discovered  this  marvelous  creature.  "Robin. 
Bird.  Robin.  Say  robin." 

"Wobin,"  said  Vesta. 

"Yes,  robin,"  he  answered.  " It  is  going  to  look  for  a 
worm  now.  We  will  see  if  we  cannot  find  its  nest.  I 
Chink  I  saw  a  nest  in  one  of  these  trees." 

He  plodded  peacefully  on,  seeking  to  rediscover  an 
389 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

old  abandoned  nest  that  he  had  observed  on  a  formei 
walk.  "Here  it  is,"  he  said  at  last,  coming  to  a  small 
and  leafless  tree,  in  which  a  winter-beaten  remnant  of  a 
home  was  still  clinging.  "Here,  come  now,  see,"  and 
he  lifted  the  baby  up  at  arm's  length. 

"See,"  said  Gerhardt,  indicating  the  wisp  of  dead 
grasses  with  his  free  hand,  "nest.  That  is  a  bird's  nest. 
See!" 

"Ooh!"  repeated  Vesta,  imitating  his  pointing  finger 
with  one  of  her  own.  "  Ness — ooh!" 

"Yes,"  said  Gerhardt,  putting  her  down  again.  " That 
was  a  wren's  nest.  They  have  all  gone  now.  They  will 
not  come  any  more." 

Still  further  they  plodded,  he  unfolding  the  simple 
facts  of  life,  she  wondering  with  the  wide  wonder  of  a 
child.  When  they  had  gone  a  block  or  two  he  turned 
slowly  about  as  if  the  end  of  the  world  had  been  reached. 

"We  must  be  going  back!"  he  said. 

And  so  she  had  come  to  her  fifth  year,  growing  in 
sweetness,  intelligence,  and  vivacity.  Gerhardt  was 
fascinated  by  the  questions  she  asked,  the  puzzles  she 
pronounced.  "Such  a  girl!"  he  would  exclaim  to  his 
wife.  "What  is  it  she  doesn't  want  to  know?  'Where 
is  God?  What  does  He  do?  Where  does  He  keep  His 
feet?*  she  asks  me.  "  I  gotta  laugh  sometimes."  From 
rising  in  the  morning,  to  dress  her  to  laying  her  down  at 
night  after  she  had  said  her  prayers,  she  came  to  be  the 
chief  solace  and  comfort  of  his  days.  Without  Vesta, 
Gerhardt  would  have  found  his  life  hard  indeed  to  bear. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

FOR  three  years  now  Lester  had  been  happy  in  the 
companionship  of  Jennie.  Irregular  as  the  connection 
might  be  in  the  eyes  of  the  church  and  of  society,  it  had 
brought  him  peace  and  comfort,  and  he  was  perfectly 
satisfied  with  the  outcome  of  the  experiment.  His  inter- 
est in  the  social  affairs  of  Cincinnati  was  now  practically 
nil,  and  he  had  consistently  refused  to  consider  any 
matrimonial  proposition  which  had  himself  as  the  ob- 
ject. He  looked  on  his  father's  business  organization  as 
offering  a  real  chance  for  himself  if  he  could  get  control 
of  it;  but  he  saw  no  way  of  doing  so.  Robert's  interests 
were  always  in  the  way,  and,  if  anything,  the  two 
brothers  were  farther  apart  than  ever  in  their  ideas  and 
aims.  Lester  had  thought  once  or  twice  of  entering 
some  other  line  of  business  or  of  allying  himself  with 
another  carriage  company,  but  he  did  not  feel  that  ha 
could  conscientiously  do  this.  Lester  had  his  salary — 
fifteen  thousand  a  year  as  secretary  and  treasurer  of  the 
company  (his  brother  was  vice-president) — and  about  five 
thousand  from  some  outside  investments.  He  had  not 
been  so  lucky  or  so  shrewd  in  speculation  as  Robert  had 
been;  aside  from  the  principal  which  yielded  his  five 
thousand,  he  had  nothing.  Robert,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  unquestionably  worth  between  three  and  four  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  in  addition  to  his  future  interest 
in  the  business,  which  both  brothers  shrewdly  suspected 
would  be  divided  somewhat  in  their  favor.  Robert  and 
Lester  would  get  a  fourth  each,  they  thought;  their 
sisters  a  sixth.  It  seemed  natural  that  Kane  senior 

191 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

should  take  this  view,  seeing  that  the  brothers  were 
actually  in  control  and  doing  the  work.  Still,  there  was 
no  certainty.  The  old  gentleman  might  do  anything  or 
nothing.  The  probabilities  were  that  he  would  be  very 
fair  and  liberal.  At  the  same  time,  Robert  was  obviously 
beating  Lester  in  the  game  of  life.  What  did  Lester  in- 
tend to  do  about  it? 

There  comes  a  time  in  every  thinking  man's  life  when 
he  pauses  and  " takes  stock"  of  his  condition;  when  he 
asks  himself  how  it  fares  with  his  individuality  as  a 
whole,  mental,  moral,  physical,  material.  This  time 
comes  after  the  first  heedless  flights  of  youth  have  passed, 
when  the  initiative  and  more  powerful  efforts  have  been 
made,  and  he  begins  to  feel  the  uncertainty  of  results  and 
final  values  which  attaches  itself  to  everything.  There 
is  a  deadening  thought  of  uselessness  which  creeps  into 
many  men's  minds — the  thought  which  has  been  best 
expressed  by  the  Preacher  in  Ecclesiastes. 

Yet  Lester  strove  to  be  philosophical.  "What  differ- 
ence does  it  make?"  he  used  to  say  to  himself,  "whether 
I  live  at  the  White  House,  or  here  at  home,  or  at  the 
Grand  Pacific?"  But  in  the  very  question  was  the  im- 
plication that  there  were  achievements  in  life  which  he 
had  failed  to  realize  in  his  own  career.  The  White  House 
represented  the  rise  and  success  of  a  great  public  charac- 
ter. His  home  and  the  Grand  Pacific  were  what  had 
come  to  him  without  effort. 

He  decided  for  the  time  being — it  was  about  the 
period  of  the  death  of  Jennie's  mother — that  he  would 
make  some  effort  to  rehabilitate  himself.  He  would  cut 
out  idling — these  numerous  trips  with  Jennie  had  cost 
him  considerable  time.  He  would  make  some  outside 
investments.  If  his  brother  could  find  avenues  of 
financial  profit,  so  could  he.  He  would  endeavor  to 
assert  his  authority — he  would  try  to  make  himself  of 
more  importance  in  the  business,  rather  than  let  Robert 
gradually  absorb  everything.  Should  he  forsake  Jennie  ? 

192 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

— that  thought  also,  came  to  him.  She  had  no  claim  on 
him.  She  could  make  no  protest.  Somehow  he  did  not 
see  how  it  could  be  done.  It  seemed  cruel,  useless; 
above  all  (though  he  disliked  to  admit  it)  it  would  be 
uncomfortable  for  himself.  He  liked  her— loved  her, 
perhaps,  in  a  selfish  way.  He  didn't  see  how  he  could 
desert  her  very  well. 

Just  at  this  time  he  had  a  really  serious  difference  with 
Robert.  His  brother  wanted  to  sever  relations  with  an 
old  and  well  established  paint  company  in  New  York, 
which  had  manufactured  paints  especially  for  the  house, 
and  invest  in  a  new  concern  in  Chicago,  which  was  grow- 
ing and  had  a  promising  future.  Lester,  knowing  the 
members  of  the  Eastern  firm,  their  reliability,  their  long 
and  friendly  relations  with  the  house,  was  in  opposition. 
His  father  at  first  seemed  to  agree  with  Lester.  But 
Robert  argued  out  the  question  in  his  cold,  logical  way, 
his  blue  eyes  fixed  uncompromisingly  upon  his  brother's 
face.  "We  can't  go  on  forever,"  he  said,  "standing  by 
old  friends,  just  because  father  here  has  dealt  with  them, 
or  you  like  them.  We  must  have  a  change.  The  busi- 
ness must  be  stiffened  up ;  we're  going  to  have  more  and 
stronger  competition." 

"It's  just  as  father  feels  about  it,"  said  Lester  at  last. 
"I  have  no  deep  feeling  in  the  matter.  It  won't  hurt 
me  one  way  or  the  other.  You  say  the  house  is  going  to 
profit  eventually.  I've  stated  the  arguments  on  the 
other  side." 

"I'm  inclined  to  think  Robert  is  right,"  said  Archi- 
bald Kane  calmly.  "Most  of  the  things  he  has  sug- 
gested so  far  have  worked  out." 

Lester  colored.  "Well,  we  won't  have  any  more 
discussion  about  it  then,"  he  said.  He  rose  and  strolled 
out  of  the  office. 

The  shock  of  this  defeat,  coming  at  a  time  when  he  was 
considering  pulling  himself  together,  depressed  Lester 
considerably.  It  wasn't  much  but  it  was  a  straw,  and 

193 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

his  father's  remark  about  his  brother's  business  acumen 
was  even  more  irritating.  He  was  beginning  to  wonder 
whether  his  father  would  discriminate  in  any  way  in  the 
distribution  of  the  property.  Had  he  heard  anything 
about  his  entanglement  with  Jennie?  Had  he  re- 
sented the  long  vacations  he  had  taken  from  business? 
It  did  not  appear  to  Lester  that  he  could  be  justly  charge- 
able with  either  incapacity  or  indifference,  so  far  as  the 
company  was  concerned.  He  had  done  his  work  well. 
He  was  still  the  investigator  of  propositions  put  up  to  the 
house,  the  student  of  contracts,  the  trusted  adviser  of  his 
father  and  mother — but  he  was  being  worsted.  Where 
would  it  end?  He  thought  about  this,  but  could  reach 
no  conclusion. 

Later  in  this  same  year  Robert  came  forward  with  a 
plan  for  reorganization  in  the  executive  department 
of  the  business.  He  proposed  that  they  should  build  an 
immense  exhibition  and  storage  warehouse  on  Michigan 
Avenue  in  Chicago,  and  transfer  a  portion  of  their  com- 
pleted stock  there.  Chicago  was  more  central  than 
Cincinnati.  Buyers  from  the  West  and  country  mer- 
chants could  be  more  easily  reached  and  dealt  with  there. 
It  would  be  a  big  advertisement  for  the  house,  a  mag- 
nificent evidence  of  its  standing  and  prosperity.  Kane 
senior  and  Lester  immediately  approved  of  this.  Both 
saw  its  advantages.  Robert  suggested  that  Lester 
should  undertake  the  construction  of  the  new  buildings. 
It  would  probably  be  advisable  for  him  to  reside  in 
Chicago  a  part  of  the  time. 

The  idea  appealed  to  Lester,  even  though  it  took  him 
away  from  Cincinnati,  largely  if  not  entirely.  It  was 
dignified  and  not  unrepresentative  of  his  standing  in  the 
company.  He  could  live  in  Chicago  and  he  could  have 
Jennie  with  him.  The  scheme  he  had  for  taking  an 
apartment  could  now  be  arranged  without  difficulty. 
He  voted  yes.  Robert  smiled.  "  I'm  sure  we'll  get  good 
results  from  this  all  around,"  he  said. 

194 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

As  construction  work  was  soon  to  begin,  Lester  decided 
to  move  to  Chicago  immediately.  He  sent  word  for 
Jennie  to  meet  him,  and  together  they  selected  an  apart- 
ment on  the  North  Side,  a  very  comfortable  suite  of 
rooms  on  a  side  street  near  the  lake,  and  he  had  it  fitted 
up  to  suit  his  taste.  He  figured  that  living  in  Chicago 
he  could  pose  as  a  bachelor.  He  would  never  need  to 
invite  his  friends  to  his  rooms.  There  were  his  offices, 
where  he  could  always  be  found,  his  clubs  and  the  hotels. 
To  his  way  of  thinking  the  arrangement  was  practically 
ideal. 

Of  course  Jennie's  departure  from  Cleveland  brought 
the  affairs  of  the  Gerhardt  family  to  a  climax.  Probably 
the  home  would  be  broken  up,  but  Gerhardt  himself  took 
the  matter  philosophically.  He  was  an  old  man,  and  it 
did  not  matter  much  where  he  lived.  Bass,  Martha, 
and  George  were  already  taking  care  of  themselves. 
Veronica  and  William  were  still  in  school,  but  some  pro- 
vision could  be  made  for  boarding  them  with  a  neighbor. 
The  one  real  concern  of  Jennie  and  Gerhardt  was  Vesta. 
It  was  Gerhardt 's  natural  thought  that  Jennie  must  take 
the  child  with  her.  What  else  should  a  mother  do  ? 

"  Have  you  told  him  yet  ?"  he  asked  her,  when  the  day 
of  her  contemplated  departure  had  been  set. 

"  No;  but  I'm  going  to  soon,"  she  assured  him. 

"Always  soon,"  he  said. 

He  shook  his  head.     His  throat  swelled. 

"It's  too  bad,"  he  went  on.  "It's  a  great  sin.  God 
will  punish  you,  I'm  afraid.  The  child  needs  some  one. 
I'm  getting  old — otherwise  I  would  keep  her.  There  is 
no  one  here  all  day  now  to  look  after  her  right,  as  she 
should  be."  Again  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I  know,"  said  Jennie  weakly.  "  I'm  going  to  fix  it 
now.  I'm  going  to  have  her  live  with  me  soon.  I  won't 
neglect  her — you  know  that." 

"But  the  child's  name,"  he  insisted.  "She  should 
have  a  name.  Soon  in  another  year  she  goes  to  school. 
14  195 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

People  will  want  to  know  who  she  is.  It  can't  go  on 
forever  like  this." 

Jennie  understood  well  enough  that  it  couldn't.  She 
was  crazy  about  her  baby.  The  heaviest  cross  she  had 
to  bear  was  the  constant  separations  and  the  silence  she 
was  obliged  to  maintain  about  Vesta's  very  existence. 
It  did  seem  unfair  to  the  child,  and  yet  Jennie  did  not 
see  clearly  how  she  could  have  acted  otherwise.  Vesta 
had  good  clothes,  everything  she  needed.  She  was  at 
least  comfortable.  Jennie  hoped  to  give  her  a  good 
education.  If  only  she  had  told  the  truth  to  Lester  in 
the  first  place.  Now  it  was  almost  too  late,  and  yet  she 
felt  that  she  had  acted  for  the  best.  Finally  she  decided 
to  find  some  good  woman  or  family  in  Chicago  who 
would  take  charge  of  Vesta  for  a  consideration.  In  a 
Swedish  colony  to  the  west  of  La  Salle  Avenue  she  came 
across  an  old  lady  who  seemed  to  embody  all  the  virtues 
she  required — cleanliness,  simplicity,  honesty.  She  was 
a  widow,  doing  work  by  the  day,  but  she  was  glad  to 
make  an  arrangement  by  which  she  should  give  her 
whole  time  to  Vesta.  The  latter  was  to  go  to  kinder- 
garten when  a  suitable  one  should  be  found.  She  was 
to  have  toys  and  kindly  attention,  and  Mrs.  Olsen  was 
to  inform  Jennie  of  any  change  in  the  child's  health. 
Jennie  proposed  to  call  every  day,  and  she  thought  that 
sometimes,  when  Lester  was  out  of  town,  Vesta  might 
be  brought  to  the  apartment.  She  had  had  her  with  her 
at  Cleveland,  and  he  had  never  found  out  anything. 

The  arrangements  completed,  Jennie  returned  at  the 
first  opportunity  to  Cleveland  to  take  Vesta  away. 
Gerhardt,  who  had  been  brooding  over  his  approaching 
loss,  appeared  most  solicitous  about  her  future.  "  She 
should  grow  up  to  be  a  fine  girl,"  he  said.  "  You  should 
give  her  a  good  education — she  is  so  smart."  He  spoke 
of  the  advisability  of  sending  her  to  a  Lutheran  school 
and  church,  but  Jennie  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  Time 
and  association  with  Lester  had  led  her  to  think  that 

196 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

perhaps  the  public  school  was  better  than  any  private 
institution.  She  had  no  particular  objection  to  the 
church,  but  she  no  longer  depended  upon  its  teachings  as 
a  guide  in  the  affairs  of  life.  Why  should  she? 

The  next  day  it  was  necessary  for  Jennie  to  return  to 
Chicago.  Vesta,  excited  and  eager,  was  made  ready  for 
the  journey.  Gerhardt  had  been  wandering  about, 
restless  as  a  lost  spirit,  while  the  process  of  dressing  was 
going  on ;  now  that  the  hour  had  actually  strucl:  he  was 
doing  his  best  to  control  his  feelings.  He  could  see 
that  the  five-year-old  child  had  no  conception  of  v/hat 
it  meant  to  him.  She  was  happy  and  self-interested, 
chattering  about  the  ride  and  the  train. 

"  Be  a  good  little  girl,"  he  said,  lifting  her  up  and  kiss- 
ing her.  "See  that  you  study  your  catechism  and  say 
your  prayers.  And  you  won't  forget  the  grandpa — 
what? — "  He  tried  to  go  on,  but  his  voice  failed  him. 

Jennie,  whose  heart  ached  for  her  father,  choked  back 
her  emotion.  "There,"  she  said,  "if  I'd  thought  you 
were  going  to  act  like  that — "  She  stopped. 

"Go,"  said  Gerhardt,  manfully,  "go.  It  is  best  this 
way."  And  he  stood  solemnly  by  as  they  went  out  of 
the  door.  Then  he  turned  back  to  his  favorite  haunt, 
the  kitchen,  and  stood  there  staring  at  the  floor.  One 
by  one  they  were  leaving  him — Mrs.  Gerhardt,  Bass, 
Martha,  Jennie,  Vesta.  He  clasped  his  hands  together, 
after  his  old-time  fashion,  and  shook  his  head  again  and 
again.  "So  it  is!  So  it  is!"  he  repeated.  "They  all 
leave  me.  All  my  life  goes  to  pieces." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

DURING  the  three  years  in  which  Jennie  and  Lester 
had  been  associated  there  had  grown  up  between 
them  a  strong  feeling  of  mutual  sympathy  and  under- 
standing. Lester  truly  loved  her  in  his  own  way.  It 
was  a  strong,  self -satisfying,  determined  kind  of  way, 
based  solidly  on  a  big  natural  foundation,  but  rising  to 
a  plane  of  genuine  spiritual  affinity.  The  yielding 
sweetness  of  her  character  both  attracted  and  held  him. 
She  was  true,  and  good,  and  womanly  to  the  very  center 
of  her  being;  he  had  learned  to  trust  her,  to  depend 
upon  her,  and  the  feeling  had  but  deepened  with  the 
passing  of  the  years. 

On  her  part  Jennie  had  sincerely,  deeply,  truly  learned 
to  love  this  man.  At  first  when  he  had  swept  her  off 
her  feet,  overawed  her  soul,  and  used  her  necessity  as  a 
chain  wherewith  to  bind  her  to  him,  she  was  a  little 
doubtful,  a  little  afraid  of  him,  although  she  had  always 
liked  him.  Now,  however,  by  living  with  him,  by 
knowing  him  better,  by  watching  his  moods,  she  had 
come  to  love  him.  He  was  so  big,  so  vocal,  so  hand- 
some. His  point  of  view  and  opinions  of  anything  and 
everything  were  so  positive.  His  pet  motto,  "  Hew  to  the 
line,  let  the  chips  fall  where  they  may,"  had  clung  in  her 
"brain  as  something  immensely  characteristic.  Appar- 
ently he  was  not  afraid  of  anything — God,  man,  or  devil. 
He  used  to  look  at  her,  holding  her  chin  between  the 
thumb  and  fingers  of  his  big  brown  hand,  and  say: 
"You're  sweet,  all  right,  but  you  need  courage  and  de- 
fiance. You  haven't  enough  of  those  things."  And 

198 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

her  eyes  would  meet  his  in  dumb  appeal.  "Never 
mind,"  he  would  add,  "you  have  other  things."  And 
then  he  would  kiss  her. 

One  of  the  most  appealing  things  to  Lester  was  the 
simple  way  in  which  she  tried  to  avoid  exposure  of  her 
various  social  and  educational  shortcomings.  She  could 
not  write  very  well,  and  once  he  found  a  list  of  words 
he  had  used  written  out  on  a  piece  of  paper  with  the 
meanings  opposite.  He  smiled,  but  he  liked  her  better 
for  it.  Another  time  in  the  Southern  hotel  in  St.  Louis 
he  watched  her  pretending  a  loss  of  appetite  because  she 
thought  that  her  lack  of  table  manners  was  being  ob- 
served by  nearby  diners.  She  could  not  always  be  sure 
of  the  right  forks  and  knives,  and  the  strange-looking 
dishes  bothered  her;  how  did  one  eat  asparagus  and 
artichokes  ? 

"Why  don't  you  eat  something?"  he  asked  good- 
naturedly.  "You're  hungry,  aren't  you?" 

"Not  very." 

"You  must  be.  Listen,  Jennie.  I  know  what  it  is. 
You  mustn't  feel  that  way.  Your  manners  are  all 
right.  I  wouldn't  bring  you  here  if  they  weren't.  Your 
instincts  are  all  right.  Don't  be  uneasy.  I'd  tell  you 
quick  enough  when  there  was  anything  wrong."  His 
brown  eyes  held  a  friendly  gleam. 

She  smiled  gratefully.  "I  do  feel  a  little  nervous  at 
times,"  she  admitted. 

"Don't,"  he  repeated.  "You're  all  right.  Don't 
worry.  I'll  show  you."  And  he  did. 

By  degrees  Jennie  grew  into  an  understanding  of  the 
usages  and  customs  of  comfortable  existence.  All  that 
the  Gerhardt  family  had  ever  had  were  the  bare  neces- 
sities of  life.  Now  she  was  surrounded  with  whatever 
she  wanted — trunks,  clothes,  toilet  articles,  the  whole 
varied  equipment  of  comfort — and  while  she  liked  it  all, 
it  did  not  upset  her  sense  of  proportion  and  her  sense  of 
the  fitness  of  things.  There  was  no  element  of  vanity  in 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

her,  only  a  sense  of  joy  in  privilege  and  opportunity. 
She  was  grateful  to  Lester  for  all  that  he  had  done  and 
was  doing  for  her.  If  only  she  could  hold  him — always ! 

The  details  of  getting  Vesta  established  once  ad- 
justed, Jennie  settled  down  into  the  routine  of  home 
life.  Lester,  busy  about  his  multitudinous  affairs,  was 
in  and  out.  He  had  a  suite  of  rooms  reserved  for  him- 
self at  the  Grand  Pacific,  which  was  then  the  exclusive 
hotel  of  Chicago,  and  this  was  his  ostensible  residence. 
His  luncheon  and  evening  appointments  were  kept  at 
the  Union  Club.  An  early  patron  of  the  telephone,  he 
had  one  installed  in  the  apartment,  so  that  he  could 
reach  Jennie  quickly  and  at  any  time.  He  was  home 
two  or  three  nights  a  week,  sometimes  oftener.  He 
insisted  at  first  on  Jennie  having  a  girl  of  general  house- 
work, but  acquiesced  in  the  more  sensible  arrangement 
which  she  suggested  later  of  letting  some  one  come  in 
to  do  the  cleaning.  She  liked  to  work  around  her  own 
home.  Her  natural  industry  and  love  of  order  prompted 
this  feeling. 

Lester  liked  his  breakfast  promptly  at  eight  in  the 
morning.  He  wanted  dinner  served  nicely  at  seven. 
Silverware,  cut  glass,  imported  china — all  the  little 
luxuries  of  life  appealed  to  him.  He  kept  his  trunks 
and  wardrobe  at  the  apartment. 

During  the  first  few  months  everything  went  smoothly. 
He  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  Jennie  to  the  theater  now 
and  then,  and  if  he  chanced  to  run  arcoss  an  acquain- 
tance he  always  introduced  her  as  Miss  Gerhardt.  When 
he  registered  her  as  his  wife  it  was  usually  under  an 
assumed  name;  where  there  was  no  danger  of  detection 
he  did  not  mind  using  his  own  signature.  Thus  far  there 
had  been  no  difficulty  or  unpleasantness  of  any  kind. 

The  trouble  with  this  situation  was  that  it  was  criss- 
crossed with  the  danger  and  consequent  worry  which 
the  deception  in  regard  to  Vesta  had  entailed,  as  well  as 
with  Jennie's  natural  anxiety  about  her  father  and  the 

200 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

disorganized  home.  Jennie  feared,  as  Veronica  hinted, 
that  she  and  William  would  go  to  live  with  Martha,  who 
was  installed  in  a  boarding-house  in  Cleveland,  and  that 
Gerhardt  would  be  left  alone.  He  was  such  a  pathetic 
figure  to  her,  with  his  injured  hands  and  his  one  ability — 
that  of  being  a  watchman — that  she  was  hurt  to  think 
of  his  being  left  alone.  Would  he  come  to  her?  She 
knew  that  he  would  not — feeling  as  he  did  at  present. 
Would  Lester  have  him — she  was  not  sure  of  that.  If 
he  came  Vesta  would  have  to  be  accounted  for.  So  she 
worried. 

The  situation  in  regard  to  Vesta  was  really  com- 
plicated. Owing  to  the  feeling  that  she  was  doing  her 
daughter  a  great  injustice,  Jennie  was  particularly  sensi- 
tive in  regard  to  her,  anxious  to  do  a  thousand  things  to 
make  up  for  the  one  great  duty  that  she  could  not  per- 
form. She  daily  paid  a  visit  to  the  home  of  Mrs.  Olsen, 
always  taking  with  her  toys,  candy,  or  whatever  came 
into  her  mind  as  being  likely  to  interest  and  please  the 
child.  She  liked  to  sit  with  Vesta  and  tell  her  stories 
of  fairy  and  giant,  which  kept  the  little  girl  wide-eyed. 
At  last  she  went  so  far  as  to  bring  her  to  the  apartment, 
when  Lester  was  away  visiting  his  parents,  and  she  soon 
found  it  possible,  during  his  several  absences,  to  do  this 
regularly.  After  that,  as  time  went  on  and  she  began 
to  know  his  habits,  she  became  more  bold — alt  hough  bold 
is  scarcely  the  word  to  use  in  connection  with  Jennie. 
She  became  venturesome  much  as  a  mouse  might;  she 
would  risk  Vesta's  presence  on  the  assurance  of  even 
short  absences — two  or  three  days.  She  even  got  into 
the  habit  of  keeping  a  few  of  Vesta's  toys  at  the  apart- 
ment, so  that  she  could  have  something  to  play  with 
when  she  came. 

During  these  several  visits  from  her  child  Jennie 
could  not  but  realize  the  lovely  thing  life  would  be  were 
she  only  an  honored  wife  and  a  happy  mother.  Vesta 
was  a  most  observant  little  girl.  She  could  by  her  inno- 

201 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

cent  childish  questions  give  a  hundred  turns  to  the  dag- 
ger of  self-reproach  which  was  already  planted  deeply  in 
Jennie's  heart. 

"Can  I  come  to  live  with  you?"  was  one  of  her  sim- 
plest and  most  frequently  repeated  questions.  Jennie 
would  reply  that  mamma  could  not  have  her  just  yet, 
but  that  very  soon  now,  just  as  soon  as  she  possibly 
could,  Vesta  should  come  to  stay  always. 

"Don't  you  know  just  when?"  Vesta  would  ask. 

"No,  dearest,  not  just  when.  Very  soon  now.  You 
won't  mind  waiting  a  little  while.  Don't  you  like  Mrs. 
Olsen?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Vesta;  "but  then  she  ain't  got  any  nice 
things  now.  She's  just  got  old  things."  And  Jennie, 
stricken  to  the  heart,  would  take  Vesta  to  the  toy  shop, 
and  load  her  down  with  a  new  assortment  of  play- 
things. 

Of  course  Lester  was  not  in  the  least  suspicious.  His 
observation  of  things  relating  to  the  home  were  rather 
casual.  He  went  about  his  work  and  his  pleasures  be- 
lieving Jennie  to  be  the  soul  of  sincerity  and  good-natured 
service,  and  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  any- 
thing underhanded  in  her  actions.  Once  he  did  come 
home  sick  in  the  afternoon  and  found  her  absent — an 
absence  which  endured  from  two  o'clock  to  five.  He 
was  a  little  irritated  and  grumbled  on  her  return,  but  his 
annoyance  was  as  nothing  to  her  astonishment  and 
fright  when  she  found  him  there.  She  blanched  at  the 
thought  of  his  suspecting  something,  and  explained  as 
best  she  could.  She  had  gone  to  see  her  washerwoman. 
She  was  slow  about  her  marketing.  She  didn't  dream 
he  was  there.  She  was  sorry,  too,  that  her  absence  had 
lost  her  an  opportunity  to  serve  him.  It  showed  her 
what  a  mess  she  was  likely  to  make  of  it  all. 

It  happened  that  about  three  weeks  after  the  above 
occurrence  Lester  had  occasion  to  return  to  Cincinnati 
for  a  week,  and  during  this  time  Jennie  again  brought 

202 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Vesta  to  the  flat;  for  four  days  there  was  the  happiest 
goings  on  between  the  mother  and  child. 

Nothing  would  have  come  of  this  little  reunion  had  it 
not  been  for  an  oversight  on  Jennie's  part,  the  far-reach- 
ing effects  of  which  she  could  only  afterward  regret. 
This  was  the  leaving  of  a  little  toy  lamb  under  the  large 
leather  divan  in  the  front  room,  where  Lester  was  wont 
to  lie  and  smoke.  A  little  bell  held  by  a  thread  of  blue 
ribbon  was  fastened  about  its  neck,  and  this  tinkled 
feebly  whenever  it  was  shaken.  Vesta,  with  the  unac- 
countable freakishness  of  children  had  deliberately 
dropped  it  behind  the  divan,  an  action  which  Jennie  did 
not  notice  at  the  time.  When  she  gathered  up  the  vari- 
ous playthings  after  Vesta's  departure  she  overlooked  it 
entirely,  and  there  it  rested,  its  innocent  eyes  still  staring 
upon  the  sunlit  regions  of  toyland,  when  Lester  returned. 

That  same  evening,  when  he  was  lying  on  the  divan, 
quietly  enjoying  his  cigar  and  his  newspaper,  he  chanced 
to  drop  the  former,  fully  lighted.  Wishing  to  recover  it 
before  it  should  do  any  damage,  he  leaned  over  and 
looked  under  the  divan.  The  cigar  was  not  in  sight,  so 
he  rose  and  pulled  the  lounge  out,  a  move  which  revealed 
to  him  the  little  lamb  still  standing  where  Vesta  had 
dropped  it.  He  picked  it  up,  turning  it  over  and  over, 
and  wondering  how  it  had  come  there. 

A  lamb!  It  must  belong  to  some  neighbor's  child  in 
whom  Jennie  had  taken  an  interest,  he  thought.  He 
would  have  to  go  and  tease  her  about  this. 

Accordingly  he  held  the  toy  jovially  before  him,  and, 
coming  out  into  the  dining-room,  where  Jennie  was  work- 
ing at  the  sideboard,  he  exclaimed  in  a  mock  solemn 
voice,  "Where  did  this  come  from?" 

Jennie,  who  was  totally  unconscious  of  the  existence  ot 
this  evidence  of  her  duplicity,  turned,  and  was  instantly 
possessed  with  the  idea  that  he  had  suspected  all  and 
was  about  to  visit  his  just  wrath  upon  her.  Instantly 
the  blood  flamed  in  her  cheeks  and  as  quickly  left  them. 

203 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

*  Why,  why !"  she  stuttered,  "  it's  a  little  toy  I  bought.** 

"I  see  it  is,"  he  returned  genially,  her  guilty  tremor 
not  escaping  his  observation,  but  having  at  the  same 
time  no  explicable  significance  to  him.  "It's  frisking 
around  a  mighty  lone  sheepfold." 

He  touched  the  little  bell  at  its  throat,  while  Jennie 
stood  there,  unable  to  speak.  It  tinkled  feebly,  and 
then  he  looked  at  her  again.  His  manner  was  so  humor- 
ous that  she  could  tell  he  suspected  nothing.  However, 
it  was  almost  impossible  for  her  to  recover  her  self 
possession. 

44  What's  ailing  you?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,"  she  replied. 

"  You  look  as  though  a  lamb  was  a  terrible  shock  to 
you." 

"  I  forgot  to  take  it  out  from  there,  that  was  all,"  she 
went  on  blindly. 

"It  looks  as  though  it  has  been  played  with  enough," 
he  added  more  seriously,  and  then  seeing  that  the  dis- 
cussion was  evidently  painful  to  her,  he  dropped  it.  The 
lamb  had  not  furnisKed  him  the  amusement  that  he  had 
expected. 

Lester  went  back  into  the  front  room,  stretched  him- 
self out  and  thought  it  over.  Why  was  she  nervous? 
What  was  there  about  a  toy  to  make  her  grow  pale? 
Surely  there  was  no  harm  in  her  harboring  some  young- 
ster of  the  neighborhood  when  she  was  alone — having  it 
come  in  and  play.  Why  should  she  be  so  nervous  ?  He 
thought  it  over,  but  could  come  to  no  conclusion. 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  the  incident  of  the 
toy  lamb.  Time  might  have  wholly  effaced  the  im- 
pression from  Lester's  memory  had  nothing  else  inter- 
vened to  arouse  his  suspicions ;  but  a  mishap  of  any  kind 
seems  invariably  to  be  linked  with  others  which  follow 
close  upon  its  heels. 

One  evening  when  Lester  happened  to  be  lingering 
about  the  flat  later  than  usual  the  door  bell  rang,  and, 

204 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

Jennie  being  busy  in  the  kitchen,  Lester  went  himself  to 
open  the  door.  He  was  greeted  by  a  middle-aged  lady, 
who  frowned  very  nervously  upon  him,  and  inquired  in 
broken  Swedish  accents  for  Jennie. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Lester;  and  stepping  to  the 
rear  door  he  called  her. 

Jennie  came,  and  seeing  who  the  visitor  was,  she 
stepped  nervously  out  in  the  hall  and  closed  the  door 
after  her.  The  action  instantly  struck  Lester  as  sus- 
picious. He  frowned  and  determined  to  inquire  thor- 
oughly into  the  matter.  A  moment  later  Jennie  re- 
appeared. Her  face  was  white  and  her  fingers  seemed  to 
be  nervously  seeking  something  to  seize  upon. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  inquired,  the  irritation  he 
had  felt  the  moment  before  giving  his  voice  a  touch  of 
gruff  ness. 

"  I've  got  to  go  out  for  a  little  while,"  she  at  last  man- 
aged to  reply. 

"Very  well,"  he  assented  unwillingly.  "But  you  can 
tell  me  what's  the  trouble  with  you,  can't  you  ?  Where 
do  you  have  to  go  ?" 

"I — I,"  began  Jennie,  stammering.     "I — have — " 

"Yes,"  he  said  grimly. 

"  I  have  to  go  on  an  errand,"  she  stumbled  on.  "  I — 
I  can't  wait.  I'll  tell  you  when  I  come  back,  Lester. 
Please  don't  ask  me  now." 

She  looked  vainly  at  him,  her  troubled  countenance 
still  marked  by  preoccupation  and  anxiety  to  get  away, 
and  Lester,  who  had  never  seen  this  look  of  intense  re- 
sponsibility in  her  before,  was  moved  and  irritated  by  it. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  "but  what's  the  use  of  all 
this  secrecy?  Why  can't  you  come  out  and  tell  what's 
the  matter  with  you  ?  What's  the  use  of  this  whispering 
behind  doors?  Where  do  you  have  to  go?" 

He  paused,  checked  by  his  own  harshness,  and  Jennie, 
who  was  intensely  wrought  up  by  the  information  she 
had  received,  as  well  as  the  unwonted  verbal  castigation 

205 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

-Jie  was  now  enduring,  rose  to  an  emotional  state  never 
Beached  by  her  before. 

"I  will,  Lester,  I  will,"  she  exclaimed.  "Only  not 
now.  I  haven't  time.  I'll  tell  you  everything  when  I 
come  back.  Please  don't  stop  me  now." 

She  hurried  to  the  adjoining  chamber  to  get  her  wraps, 
and  Lester,  who  had  even  yet  no  clear  conception  of 
what  it  all  meant,  followed  her  stubbornly  to  the  door. 

"See  here,"  he  exclaimed  in  his  vigorous,  brutal  way, 
"you're  not  acting  right.  What's  the  matter  with  you? 
I  want  to  know." 

He  stood  in  the  doorway,  his  whole  frame  exhibiting 
the  pugnacity  and  settled  determination  of  a  man  who 
is  bound  to  be  obeyed.  Jennie,  troubled  and  driven  to 
bay,  turned  at  last. 

"It's  my  child,  Lester,"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  dying. 
I  haven't  time  to  talk.  Oh,  please  don't  stop  me.  I'll 
tell  you  everything  when  I  come  back." 

"Your  child!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  the  hell  are  you 
talking  about?" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  returned.  "I  was  afraid — 
I  should  have  told  you  long  ago.  I  meant  to  only — only 
— Oh,  let  me  go  now,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  when  I  come 
back!" 

He  stared  at  her  in  amazement;  then  he  stepped 
aside,  unwilling  to  force  her  any  further  for  the  present. 
"Well,  go  ahead,"  he  said  quietly.  "Don't  you  want 
some  one  to  go  along  with  you  ?" 

"No,"  she  replied.  "Mrs.  Olsen  is  right  here.  I'll 
go  with  her." 

She  hurried  forth,  white-faced,  and  he  stood  there, 
pondering.  Could  this  be  the  woman  he  had  thought  he 
knew?  Why,  she  had  been  deceiving  him  for  years. 
Jennie!  The  white-faced!  The  simple! 

He  choked  a  little  as  he  muttered: 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!" 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  reason  why  Jennie  had  been  called  was  nothing 
more  than  one  of  those  infantile  seizures  the  coming 
and  result  of  which  no  man  can  predict  two  hours  before- 
hand. Vesta  had  been  seriously  taken  with  membra- 
nous croup  only  a  few  hours  before,  and  the  develop- 
ment since  had  been  so  rapid  that  the  poor  old  Swedish 
mother  was  half  frightened  to  death  herself,  and  hastily 
despatched  a  neighbor  to  say  that  Vesta  was  very  ill 
and  Mrs.  Kane  was  to  come  at  once.  This  message,  de- 
livered as  it  was  in  a  very  nervous  manner  by  one  whose 
only  object  was  to  bring  her,  had  induced  the  soul-rack- 
ing fear  of  death  in  Jennie  and  caused  her  to  brave  the 
discovery  of  Lester  in  the  manner  described.  Jennie 
hurried  on  anxiously,  her  one  thought  being  to  reach 
her  child  before  the  arm  of  death  could  interfere  and 
snatch  it  from  her,  her  mind  weighed  upon  by  a  legion 
of  fears.  What  if  it  should  already  be  too  late  when 
she  got  there;  what  if  Vesta  already  should  be  no  more. 
Instinctively  she  quickened  her  pace  and  as  the  street 
lamps  came  and  receded  in  the  gloom  she  forgot  all  the 
sting  of  Lester's  words,  all  fear  that  he  might  turn  her 
out  and  leave  her  alone  in  a  great  city  with  a  little 
child  to  care  for,  and  remembered  only  the  fact  that  her 
Vesta  was  very  ill,  possibly  dying,  and  that  she  was 
the  direct  cause  of  the  child's  absence  from  her;  that 
perhaps  but  for  the  want  of  her  care  and  attention 
Vesta  might  be  well  to-night. 

"If  I  can  only  get  there,"  she  kept  saying  to  herself; 
and  then,  with  that  frantic  unreason  which  is  the  chief 

207 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

characteristic  of  the  instinct-driven  mother:  "I  might 
have  known  that  God  would  punish  me  for  my  unnat- 
ural conduct.  I  might  have  known  —  I  might  have 
known." 

When  she  reached  the  gate  she  fairly  sped  up  the  little 
walk  and  into  the  house,  where  Vesta  was  lying  pale, 
quiet,  and  weak,  but  considerably  better.  Several  Swed- 
ish neighbors  and  a  middle-aged  physician  were  in  at- 
tendance, all  of  whom  looked  at  her  curiously  as  she 
dropped  beside  the  child's  bed  and  spoke  to  her. 

Jennie's  mind  had  been  made  up.  She  had  sinned,  and 
sinned  grievously,  against  her  daughter,  but  now  she 
would  make  amends  so  far  as  possible.  Lester  was  very 
dear  to  her,  but  she  would  no  longer  attempt  to  deceive 
him  in  anything,  even  if  he  left  her — she  felt  an  agonized 
stab,  a  pain  at  the  thought — she  must  still  do  the  one 
right  thing.  Vesta  must  not  be  an  outcast  any  longer. 
Her  mother  must  give  her  a  home.  Where  Jennie  was, 
there  must  Vesta  be. 

Sitting  by  the  bedside  in  this  humble  Swedish  cottage, 
Jennie  realized  the  fruitlessness  of  her  deception,  the 
trouble  and  pain  it  had  created  in  her  home,  the  months 
of  suffering  it  had  given  her  with  Lester,  the  agony  it  had 
heaped  upon  her  this  night — and  to  what  end?  The 
truth  had  been  discovered  anyhow.  She  sat  there  and 
meditated,  not  knowing  what  next  was  to  happen,  while 
Vesta  quieted  down,  and  then  went  soundly  to  sleep. 

Lester,  after  recovering  from  the  first  heavy  import  of 
this  discovery,  asked  himself  some  perfectly  natural 
questions.  "Who  was  the  father  of  the  child?  How 
old  was  it?  How  did  it  chance  to  be  in  Chicago,  and 
who  was  taking  care  of  it  ?  He  could  ask,  but  he  could 
not  answer;  he  knew  absolutely  nothing. 

Curiously,  now,  as  he  thought,  his  first  meeting  with 
Jennie  at  Mrs.  Bracebridge's  came  back  to  him.  What 
was  it  about  her  then  that  had  attracted  him?  What 
made  him  think,  after  a  few  hours'  observation,  that  he 

208 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

could  seduce  her  to  do  his  will?  What  was  it — moral 
looseness,  or  weakness,  or  what  ?  There  must  have  been 
art  in  the  sorry  affair,  the  practised  art  of  the  cheat,  and, 
in  deceiving  such  a  confiding  nature  as  his,  she  had  done 
even  more  than  practise  deception  —  she  had  been  un- 
grateful. 

Now  the  quality  of  ingratitude  was  a  very  objection- 
able thing  to  Lester — the  last  and  most  offensive  trait 
of  a  debased  nature,  and  to  be  able  to  discover  a  trace  of 
it  in  Jennie  was  very  disturbing.  It  is  true  that  she  had 
not  exhibited  it  in  any  other  way  before — quite  to  the 
contrary — but  nevertheless  he  saw  strong  evidences  of  it 
now,  and  it  made  him  very  bitter  in  his  feeling  toward 
her.  How  could  she  be  guilty  of  any  such  conduct  toward 
him  ?  Had  he  not  picked  her  up  out  of  nothing,  so  to 
speak,  and  befriended  her? 

He  moved  from  his  chair  in  this  silent  room  and  began 
to  pace  slowly  to  and  fro,  the  weightiness  of  this  subject 
exercising  to  the  full  his  power  of  decision.  She  was 
guilty  of  a  misdeed  which  he  felt  able  to  condemn.  The 
original  concealment  was  evil;  the  continued  deception 
more.  Lastly,  there  was  the  thought  that  her  love  after 
all  had  been  divided,  part  for  him,  part  for  the  child,  a 
discovery  which  no  man  in  his  position  could  contem- 
plate with  serenity.  He  moved  irritably  as  he  thought 
of  it,  shoved  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  walked  to  and 
fro  across  the  floor. 

That  a  man  of  Lester's  temperament  should  consider 
himself  wronged  by  Jennie  merely  because  she  had  con- 
cealed a  child  whose  existence  was  due  to  conduct  no 
more  irregular  than  was  involved  later  in  the  yielding 
of  herself  to  him  was  an  example  of  those  inexplicable 
perversions  of  judgment  to  which  the  human  mind,  in  its 
capacity  of  keeper  of  the  honor  of  others,  seems  per- 
manently committed.  Lester,  aside  from  his  own  per- 
sonal conduct  (for  men  seldom  judge  with  that  in  the 
balance),  had  faith  in  the  ideal  that  a  woman  should 

209 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

reveal  herself  completely  to  the  one  man  with  whom  she 
is  in  love;  and  the  fact  that  she  had  not  done  so  was  a 
grief  to  him.  He  had  asked  her  once  tentatively  about 
her  past.  She  begged  him  not  to  press  her.  That  was 
the  time  she  should  have  spoken  of  any  child.  Now — 
he  shook  his  head. 

His  first  impulse,  after  he  had  thought  the  thing  over, 
was  to  walk  out  and  leave  her.  At  the  same  time  he  was 
curious  to  hear  the  end  of  this  business.  He  did  put  on 
his  hat  and  coat,  however,  and  went  out,  stopping  at  the 
first  convenient  saloon  to  get  a  drink.  He  took  a  car 
and  went  down  to  the  club,  strolling  about  the  different 
rooms  and  chatting  with  several  people  whom  he  encoun- 
tered. He  was  restless  and  irritated;  and  finally,  after 
three  hours  of  meditation,  he  took  a  cab  and  returned  to 
his  apartment. 

The  distraught  Jennie,  sitting  by  her  sleeping  child,  was 
at  last  made  to  realize,  by  its  peaceful  breathing  that  all 
danger  was  over.  There  was  nothing  more  that  she 
could  do  for  Vesta,  and  now  the  claims  of  the  home  that 
she  had  deserted  began  to  reassert  themselves,  the  prom- 
ise to  Lester  and  the  need  of  being  loyal  to  her  duties 
unto  the  very  end.  Lester  might  possibly  be  waiting 
for  her.  It  was  just  probable  that  he  wished  to  hear  the 
remainder  of  her  story  before  breaking  with  her  entirely. 
Although  anguished  and  frightened  by  the  certainty,  as 
she  deemed  it,  of  his  forsaking  her,  she  nevertheless  felt 
that  it  was  no  more  than  she  deserved — a  just  punish- 
ment for  all  her  misdoings. 

When  Jennie  arrived  at  the  flat  it  was  after  eleven,  and 
the  hall  light  was  already  out.  She  first  tried  the  door, 
and  then  inserted  her  key.  No  one  stirred,  however,  and, 
opening  the  door,  she  entered  in  the  expectation  of  seeing 
Lester  sternly  confronting  her.  He  was  not  there,  how- 
ever. The  burning  gas  had  merely  been  an  oversight  on 
his  part.  She  glanced  quickly  about,  but  seeing  only 
the  empty  room,  she  came  instantly  to  the  other  con- 

210 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

elusion,  that  he  had  forsaken  her — and  so  stood  there, 
a  meditative,  helpless  figure. 

"Gone!"  she  thought. 

At  this  moment  his  footsteps  sounded  on  the  stairs. 
He  came  in  with  his  derby  hat  pulled  low  over  his  broad 
forehead,  close  to  his  sandy  eyebrows,  and  with  his  over- 
coat buttoned  up  closely  about  his  neck.  He  took  off  the 
coat  without  looking  at  Jennie  and  hung  it  on  the  rack. 
Then  he  deliberately  took  off  his  hat  and  hung  that  up 
also.  When  he  was  through  he  turned  to  where  she  was 
watching  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  know  about  this  thing  now  from  beginning 
to  end,"  he  began.  "Whose  child  is  that?" 

Jennie  wavered  a  moment,  as  one  who  might  be  going 
to  take  a  leap  in  the  dark,  then  opened  her  lips  mechani- 
cally and  confessed: 

"  It's  Senator  Brander's." 

"Senator  Brander!"  echoed  Lester,  the  familiar  name 
of  the  dead  but  still  famous  statesman  ringing  with 
shocking  and  unexpected  force  in  his  ears.  "How  did 
you  come  to  know  him?" 

"We  used  to  do  his  washing  for  him,"  she  rejoined 
simply — "my  mother  and  I." 

Lester  paused,  the  baldness  of  the  statements  issuing 
from  her  sobering  even  his  rancorous  mood.  "Senator 
Brander's  child,"  he  thought  to  himself.  So  that  great 
representative  of  the  interests  of  the  common  people 
was  the  undoer  of  her  —  a  self  -  confessed  washerwo- 
man's daughter.  A  fine  tragedy  of  low  life  all  this 
was. 

"How  long  ago  was  this?"  he  demanded,  his  face  the 
picture  of  a  darkling  mood. 

"It's  been  nearly  six  years  now,"  she  returned. 

He  calculated  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since  he  had 
known  her,  and  then  continued : 

"  How  old  is  the  child  ?" 

"She's  a  little  over  five." 
15  2" 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Lester  moved  a  little.  The  need  for  serious  thought 
made  his  tone  more  peremptory  but  less  bitter. 

"Where  have  you  been  keeping  her  all  this  time?" 

"She  was  at  home  until  you  went  to  Cincinnati  last 
spring.  I  went  down  and  brought  her  then." 

"  Was  she  there  the  times  I  came  to  Cleveland  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jennie;  "but  I  didn't  let  her  come  out 
anywhere  where  you  could  see  her." 

"I  thought  you  said  you  told  your  people  that  you 
were  married,"  he  exclaimed,  wondering  how  this  re- 
lationship of  the  child  to  the  family  could  have  been  ad- 
justed. 

"I  did,"  she  replied,  "but  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you 
about  her.  They  thought  all  the  time  I  intended  to." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you?" 

"Because  I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  I  didn't  know  what  was  going  to  become  of  me  when 
I  went  with  you,  Lester.  I  didn't  want  to  do  her  any 
harm  if  I  could  help  it.  I  was  ashamed,  afterward;  when 
you  said  you  didn't  like  children  I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid  I'd  leave  you?" 

"Yes." 

He  stopped,  the  simplicity  of  her  answers  removing 
a  part  of  the  suspicion  of  artful  duplicity  which  had 
originally  weighed  upon  him.  After  all,  there  was  not  so 
much  of  that  in  it  as  mere  wretchedness  of  circumstance 
and  cowardice  of  morals.  What  a  family  she  must 
have!  What  queer  non-moral  natures  they  must  have 
to  have  brooked  any  such  a  combination  of  affairs ! 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  you'd  be  found  out  in  the  long 
run?"  he  at  last  demanded.  "Surely  you  might  have 
seen  that  you  couldn't  raise  her  that  way.  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  in  the  first  place  ?  I  wouldn't  have  thought 
anything  of  it  then." 

"  I  know,"  she  said.     "  I  wanted  to  protect  her." 

"Where  is  she  now?"  he  asked. 

212 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Jennie  explained. 

She  stood  there,  the  contradictory  aspect  of  these 
questions  and  of  his  attitude  puzzling  even  herself.  She 
did  try  to  explain  them  after  a  time,  but  all  Lester  could 
gain  was  that  she  had  blundered  along  without  any  arti- 
fice at  all — a  condition  that  was  so  manifest  that,  had  he 
been  in  any  other  position  than  that  he  was,  he  might 
have  pitied  her.  As  it  was,  the  revelation  concerning 
Brander  was  hanging  over  him,  and  he  finally  returned 
to  that. 

"You  say  your  mother  used  to  do  washing  for  him. 
How  did  you  come  to  get  in  with  him?" 

Jennie,  who  until  now  had  borne  his  questions  with 
unmoving  pain,  winced  at  this.  He  was  now  encroach- 
ing upon  the  period  that  was  by  far  the  most  distressing 
memory  of  her  life.  What  he  had  just  asked  seemed  to 
be  a  demand  upon  her  to  make  everything  clear. 

"I  was  so  young,  Lester,"  she  pleaded.  "I  was  only 
eighteen.  I  didn't  know.  I  used  to  go  to  the  hotel 
where  he  was  stopping  and  get  his  laundry,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  week  I'd  take  it  to  him  again." 

She  paused,  and  as  he  took  a  chair,  looking  as  if  he  ex- 
pected to  hear  the  whole  story,  she  continued:  "We 
were  so  poor.  He  used  to  give  me  money  to  give  to  my 
mother.  I  didn't  know." 

She  paused  again,  totally  unable  to  go  on,  and  he, 
seeing  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  explain 
without  prompting,  took  up  his  questioning  again — 
eliciting  by  degrees  the  whole  pitiful  story.  Brander 
had  intended  to  marry  her.  He  had  written  to  her,  but 
before  he  could  come  to  her  he  died. 

The  confession  was  complete.  It  was  followed  by  a 
period  of  five  minutes,  in  which  Lester  said  nothing  at  all ; 
he  put  his  arm  on  the  mantel  and  stared  at  the  wall, 
while  Jennie  waited,  not  knowing  what  would  follow — 
not  wishing  to  make  a  single  plea.  The  clock  ticked 
audibly.  Lester's  face  betrayed  no  sign  of  either  thought 

213 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

or  feeling.  He  was  now  quite  calm,  quite  sober,  won- 
dering what  he  should  do.  Jennie  was  before  him  as  the 
criminal  at  the  bar.  He,  the  righteous,  the  moral,  the 
pure  of  heart,  was  in  the  judgment  seat.  Now  to  sen- 
tence her — to  make  up  his  mind  what  course  of  action 
he  should  pursue. 

It  was  a  disagreeable  tangle,  to  be  sure,  something 
that  a  man  of  his  position  and  wealth  really  ought  not 
to  have  anything  to  do  with.  This  child,  the  actuality  of 
it,  put  an  almost  unbearable  face  upon  the  whole  matter 
— and  yet  he  was  not  quite  prepared  to  speak.  He 
turned  after  a  time,  the  silvery  tinkle  of  the  French  clock 
on  the  mantel  striking  three  and  causing  him  to  become 
aware  of  Jennie,  pale,  uncertain,  still  standing  as  she 
had  stood  all  this  while. 

"Better  go  to  bed,"  he  said  at  last,  and  fell  again 
to  pondering  this  difficult  problem. 

But  Jennie  continued  to  stand  there  wide-eyed,  ex- 
pectant, ready  to  hear  at  any  moment  his  decision  as  to 
her  fate.  She  waited  in  vain,  however.  After  a  long 
time  of  musing  he  turned  and  went  to  the  clothes-rack 
near  the  door. 

"  Better  go  to  bed,"  he  said,  indifferently.  "  I'm  going 
out." 

She  turned  instinctively,  feeling  that  even  in  this 
crisis  there  was  some  little  service  that  she  might  render, 
but  he  did  not  see  her.  He  went  out,  vouchsafing  no 
further  speech. 

She  looked  after  him,  and  as  his  footsteps  sounded  on 
the  stair  she  felt  as  if  she  were  doomed  and  hearing  her 
own  death-knell.  What  had  she  done?  What  would  he 
do  now?  She  stood  there  a  dissonance  of  despair,  and 
when  the  lower  door  clicked  moved  her  hand  out  of 
the  agony  of  her  suppressed  hopelessness. 

"Gone!"  she  thought.     "Gone!" 

In  the  light  of  a  late  dawn  she  was  still  sitting  there 
pondering,  her  state  far  too  urgent  for  idle  tears. 
.      214 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE  sullen,  philosophic  Lester  was  not  so  determined 
upon  his  future  course  of  action  as  he  appeared  to 
be.  Stern  as  was  his  mood,  he  did  not  see,  after  all,  exactly 
what  grounds  he  had  for  complaint.  And  yet  the  child's 
existence  complicated  matters  considerably.  He  did 
not  like  to  see  the  evidence  of  Jennie's  previous  misdeeds 
walking  about  in  the  shape  of  a  human  being;  but,  as  9 
matter  of  fact,  he  admitted  to  himself  that  long  ago  he 
might  have  forced  Jennie's  story  out  of  her  if  he  had  gone 
about  it  in  earnest.  She  would  not  have  lied,  he  knew 
that.  At  the  very  outset  he  might  have  demanded  the 
history  of  her  past.  He  had  not  done  so;  well,  now  it 
was  too  late.  The  one  thing  it  did  fix  in  his  mind  was 
that  it  would  be  useless  to  ever  think  of  marrying  her. 
It  couldn't  be  done,  not  by  a  man  in  his  position.  The 
best  solution  of  the  problem  was  to  make  reasonable 
provision  for  Jennie  and  then  leave  her.  He  went  to  his 
hotel  with  his  mind  made  up,  but  he  did  not  actually 
say  to  himself  that  he  would  do  it  at  once. 

It  is  an  easy  thing  for  a  man  to  theorize  in  a  situation 
of  this  kind,  quite  another  to  act.  Our  comforts,  appe- 
tites and  passions  grow  with  usage,  and  Jennie  was  not 
only  a  comfort,  but  an  appetite,  with  him.  Almost  four 
years  of  constant  association  had  taught  him  so  much 
about  her  and  himself  that  he  was  not  prepared  to  let  go 
easily  or  quickly.  It  was  too  much  of  a  wrench.  He 
could  think  of  it  bustling  about  the  work  of  a  great 
organization  during  the  daytime,  but  when  night  came 
it  was  a  different  matter.  He  could  be  lonely,  too, 

2IS 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

he  discovered  much  to  his  surprise,  and  it  disturbed 
him. 

One  of  the  things  that  interested  him  in  this  situation 
was  Jennie's  early  theory  that  the  intermingling  of  Vesta 
with  him  and  her  in  this  new  relationship  would  injure 
the  child.  Jus,t  how  did  she  come  by  that  feeling,  he 
wanted  to  know?  His  place  in  the  world  was  better 
than  hers,  yet  it  dawned  on  him  after  a  time  that  there 
might  have  been  something  in  her  point  of  view.  She 
did  not  know  who  he  was  or  what  he  would  do  with  her. 
He  might  leave  her  shortly.  Being  uncertain,  she  wished 
to  protect  her  baby.  That  wasn't  so  bad.  Then  again, 
he  was  curious  to  know  what  the  child  was  like.  The 
daughter  of  a  man  like  Senator  Brander  might  be  some- 
what of  an  infant.  He  was  a  brilliant  man  and  Jennie 
was  a  charming  woman.  He  thought  of  this,  and,  while 
it  irritated  him,  it  aroused  his  curiosity.  He  ought  to  go 
back  and  see  the  child — he  was  really  entitled  to  a  view 
of  it — but  he  hesitated  because  of  his  own  attitude  in  the 
beginning.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  really  ought  to  quit, 
and  here  he  was  parleying  with  himself. 

The  truth  was  that  he  couldn't.  These  years  of  living 
with  Jennie  had  made  him  curiously  dependent  upon  her. 
Who  had  ever  been  so  close  to  him  before  ?  His  mother 
loved  him,  but  her  attitude  toward  him  had  not  so  much 
to  do  with  real  love  as  with  ambition.  His  father — -well, 
his  father  was  a  man,  like  himself.  All  of  his  sisters  were 
distinctly  wrapped  up  in  their  own  affairs;  Robert  and 
he  were  temperamentally  uncongenial.  With  Jennie  he 
had  really  been  happy,  he  had  truly  lived.  She  was 
necessary  to  him;  the  longer  he  stayed  away  from  her 
the  more  he  wanted  her.  He  finally  decided  to  have 
a  straight-out  talk  with  her,  to  arrive  at  some  sort  of 
understanding.  She  ought  to  get  the  child  and  take  care 
of  it.  She  must  understand  that  he  might  eventually 
want  to  quit.  She  ought  to  be  made  to  feel  that  a 
definite  change  had  taken  place,  though  no  immediate 

216 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

break  might  occur.  That  same  evening  he  went  out  to 
the  apartment.  Jennie  heard  him  enter,  and  her  heart 
began  to  flutter.  Then  she  took  her  courage  in  both 
hands,  and  went  to  meet  him. 

"There's  just  one  thing  to  be  done  about  this  as  far  as 

I  can  see,"  began  Lester,  with  characteristic  directness. 

II  Get  the  child  and  bring  her  here  where  you  can  take  care  of 
her.    There's  no  use  leaving  her  in  the  hands  of  strangers." 

"I  will,  Lester,"  said  Jennie  submissively.  "I  al- 
ways wanted  to." 

"Very  well,  then,  you'd  better  do  it  at  once."  He 
took  an  evening  newspaper  out  of  his  pocket  and  strolled 
toward  one  of  the  front  windows ;  then  he  turned  to  her. 
"You  and  I  might  as  well  understand  each  other,  Jen- 
nie," he  went  on.  "I  can  see  how  this  thing  came  about. 
It  was  a  piece  of  foolishness  on  my  part  not  to  have  asked 
you  before,  and  made  you  tell  me.  It  was  silly  for  you  to 
conceal  it,  even  if  you  didn't  want  the  child's  life  mixed 
with  mine.  You  might  have  known  that  it  couldn't  be 
done.  That's  neither  here  nor  there,  though,  now.  The 
thing  that  I  want  to  point  out  is  that  one  can't  live  and 
hold  a  relationship  such  as  ours  without  confidence. 
You  and  I  had  that,  I  thought.  I  don't  see  my  way 
clear  to  ever  hold  more  than  a  tentative  relationship 
with  you  on  this  basis.  The  thing  is  too  tangled.  There's 
too  much  cause  for  scandal." 

"I  know,"  said  Jennie. 

"  Now,  I  don't  propose  to  do  anything  hasty.  For  my 
part  I  don't  see  why  things  can't  go  on  about  as  they 
are — certainly  for  the  present — but  I  want  you  to  look 
the  facts  in  the  face." 

Jennie  sighed.     "  I  know,  Lester,"  she  said,  "  I  know." 

He  went  to  the  window  and  stared  out.  There  were 
some  trees  in  the  yard,  where  the  darkness  was  settling. 
He  wondered  how  this  would  really  come  out,  for  he 
liked  a  home  atmosphere.  Should  he  leave  the  apart- 
ment and  go  to  his  club  ? 

217 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"You'd  better  get  the  dinner,"  he  suggested,  after  a 
time,  turning  toward  her  irritably;  but  he  did  not  feel 
so  distant  as  he  looked.  It  was  a  shame  that  life  could 
not  be  more  decently  organized.  He  strolled  back  to 
his  lounge,  and  Jennie  went  about  her  duties.  She  was 
thinking  of  Vesta,  of  her  ungrateful  attitude  toward 
Lester,  of  his  final  decision  never  to  marry  her.  So  that 
was  how  one  dream  had  been  wrecked  by  folly. 

She  spread  the  table,  lighted  the  pretty  silver  candles, 
made  his  favorite  biscuit,  put  a  small  leg  of  lamb  in  the 
oven  to  roast,  and  washed  some  lettuce-leaves  for  a  salad. 
She  had  been  a  diligent  student  of  a  cook-book  for  some 
time,  and  she  had  learned  a  good  deal  from  her  mother. 
All  the  time  she  was  wondering  how  the  situation  would 
work  out.  He  would  leave  her  eventually — no  doubt  of 
that.  He  would  go  away  and  marry  some  one  else. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  thought  finally,  "he  is  not  going  to 
leave  me  right  away — that  is  something.  And  I  can 
bring  Vesta  here."  She  sighed  as  she  carried  the  things 
to  the  table.  If  life  would  only  give  her  Lester  and 
Vesta  together — but  that  hope  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THERE  was  peace  and  quiet  for  some  time  after  this 
storm.  Jennie  went  the  next  day  and  brought 
Vesta  away  with  her.  The  joy  of  the  reunion  between 
mother  and  child  made  up  for  many  other  worries. 
"Now  I  can  do  by  her  as  I  ought,"  she  thought;  and 
three  or  four  times  during  the  day  she  found  herself 
humming  a  little  song. 

Lester  came  only  occasionally  at  first.  He  was  trying 
to  make  himself  believe  that  he  ought  to  do  something 
toward  reforming  his  life — toward  bringing  about  that 
eventual  separation  which  he  had  suggested.  He  did 
not  like  the  idea  of  a  child  being  in  this  apartment — 
particularly  that  particular  child.  He  fought  his  way 
through  a  period  of  calculated  neglect,  and  then  began 
to  return  to  the  apartment  more  regularly.  In  spite  of 
all  its  drawbacks,  it  was  a  place  of  quiet,  peace,  and  very 
notable  personal  comfort. 

During  the  first  days  of  Lester's  return  it  was  difficult 
for  Jennie  to  adjust  matters  so  as  to  keep  the  playful, 
nervous,  almost  uncontrollable  child  from  annoying  the 
staid,  emphatic,  commercial-minded  man.  Jennie  gave 
Vesta  a  severe  talking  to  the  first  night  Lester  telephoned 
that  he  was  coming,  telling  her  that  he  was  a  very  bad- 
tempered  man  who  didn't  like  children,  and  that  she 
mustn't  go  near  him.  "You  mustn't  talk,"  she  said. 
"  You  mustn't  ask  questions.  Let  mamma  ask  you  what 
you  want.  And  don't  reach,  ever." 

Vesta  agreed  solemnly,  but  her  childish  mind  hardly 
grasped  the  full  significance  of  the  warning. 

219 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Lester  came  at  seven.  Jennie,  who  had  taken  great 
pains  to  array  Vesta  as  attractively  as  possible,  had  gone 
into  her  bedroom  to  give  her  own  toilet  a  last  touch. 
Vesta  was  supposedly  in  the  kitchen.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  had  followed  her  mother  to  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room,  where  now  she  could  be  plainly  seen. 
Lester  hung  up  his  hat  and  coat,  then,  turning,  he  caught 
his  first  glimpse.  The  child  looked  very  sweet — he  ad- 
mitted that  at  a  glance.  She  was  arrayed  in  a  blue- 
dotted,  white  flannel  dress,  with  a  soft  roll  collar  and 
cuffs,  and  the  costume  was  completed  by  white  stock- 
ings and  shoes.  Her  corn-colored  ringlets  hung  gaily 
about  her  face.  Blue  eyes,  rosy  lips,  rosy  cheeks  com- 
pleted the  picture.  Lester  stared,  almost  inclined  to 
say  something,  but  restrained  himself.  Vesta  shyly  re- 
treated. 

When  Jennie  came  out  he  commented  on  the  fact  that 
Vesta  had  arrived.  "Rather  sweet-looking  child,"  he 
said .  "Do  you  have  much  trouble  in  making  her  mind  ? ' ' 

"Not  much,"  she  returned. 

Jennie  went  on  to  the  dining-room,  and  Lester  over- 
heard a  scrap  of  their  conversation. 

"Who  are  he?"  asked  Vesta. 

"Sh!  That's  your  Uncle  Lester.  Didn't  I  tell  you 
you  mustn't  talk?" 

"Are  he  your  uncle?" 

"No,  dear.    Don't  talk  now.    Run  into  the  kitchen." 

"Are  he  only  my  uncle?" 

"  Yes.     Now  run  along." 

"All  right." 

In  spite  of  himself  Lester  had  to  smile. 

What  might  have  followed  if  the  child  had  been 
homely,  misshapen,  peevish,  or  all  three,  can  scarcely 
be  conjectured.  Had  Jennie  been  less  tactful,  even  in 
the  beginning,  he  might  have  obtained  a  disagreeable 
impression.  As  it  was,  the  natural  beauty  of  the  child, 
combined  with  the  mother's  gentle  diplomacy  in  keep- 

220 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

ing  her  in  the  background,  served  to  give  him  that  fleet- 
ing glimpse  of  innocence  and  youth  which  is  always 
pleasant.  The  thought  struck  him  that  Jennie  had  been 
the  mother  of  a  child  all  these  years;  she  had  been 
separated  from  it  for  months  at  a  time;  she  had  never 
even  hinted  at  its  existence,  and  yet  her  affection  for 
Vesta  was  obviously  great.  "It's  queer,"  he  said. 
"She's  a  peculiar  woman." 

One  morning  Lester  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  reading 
his  paper  when  he  thought  he  heard  something  stir.  He 
turned,  and  was  surprised  to  see  a  large  blue  eye  fixed 
upon  him  through  the  crack  of  a  neighboring  door — the 
effect  was  most  disconcerting.  It  was  not  like  the  or- 
dinary eye,  which,  under  such  embarrassing  circum- 
stances, would  have  been  immediately  withdrawn;  it 
kept  its  position  with  deliberate  boldness.  He  turned 
his  paper  solemnly  and  looked  again.  There  was  the 
eye.  He  turned  it  again.  Still  was  the  eye  present. 
He  crossed  his  legs  and  looked  again.  Now  the  eye  was 
gone. 

This  little  episode,  unimportant  in  itself,  was  yet  in- 
formed with  the  saving  grace  of  comedy,  a  thing  to  which 
Lester  was  especially  responsive.  Although  not  in  the 
least  inclined  to  relax  his  attitude  of  aloofness,  he  found 
his  mind,  in  the  minutest  degree,  tickled  by  the  mysteri- 
ous appearance ;  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  animated 
by  a  desire  to  turn  up.  He  did  not  give  way  to  the 
feeling,  and  stuck  by  his  paper,  but  the  incident  remained 
very  clearly  in  his  mind.  The  young  wayfarer  had 
made  her  first  really  important  impression  upon  him. 

Not  long  after  this  Lester  was  sitting  one  morning  at 
breakfast,  calmly  eating  his  chop  and  conning  his  news- 
paper, when  he  was  aroused  by  another  visitation — this 
time  not  quite  so  simple.  Jennie  had  given  Vesta  her 
breakfast,  and  set  her  to  amuse  herself  alone  until  Lester 
should  leave  the  house.  Jennie  was  seated  at  the  table, 
pouring  out  the  coffee,  when  Vesta  suddenly  appeared, 

221 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

very  business-like  in  manner,  and  marched  through  the 
room.  Lester  looked  up,  and  Jennie  colored  and  arose. 

"What  is  it,  Vesta?"  she  inquired,  following  her. 

By  this  time,  however,  Vesta  had  reached  the  kitchen, 
secured  a  little  broom,  and  returned,  a  droll  determina- 
tion lighting  her  face. 

"  I  want  my  little  broom,"  she  exclaimed  and  marched 
sedately  past,  at  which  manifestation  of  spirit  Lester 
again  twitched  internally,  this  time  allowing  the  slightest 
suggestion  of  a  smile  to  play  across  his  mouth. 

The  final  effect  of  this  intercourse  was  gradually  to 
break  down  the  feeling  of  distaste  Lester  had  for  the 
child,  and  to  establish  in  its  place  a  sort  of  tolerant  recog- 
nition of  her  possibilities  as  a  human  being. 

The  developments  of  the  next  six  months  were  of  a 
kind  to  further  relax  the  strain  of  opposition  which  still 
existed  in  Lester's  mind.  Although  not  at  all  resigned 
to  the  somewhat  tainted  atmosphere  in  which  he  was 
living,  he  yet  found  himself  so  comfortable  that  he  could 
not  persuade  himself  to  give  it  up.  It  was  too  much  like 
a  bed  of  down.  Jennie  was  too  worshipful.  The  con- 
dition of  unquestioned  liberty,  so  far  as  all  his  old  social 
relationships  were  concerned,  coupled  with  the  privilege 
of  quiet,  simplicity,  and  affection  in  the  home  was  too 
inviting.  He  lingered  on,  and  began  to  feel  that  per- 
haps it  would  be  just  as  well  to  let  matters  rest  as  they 
were. 

During  this  period  his  friendly  relations  with  the  little 
Vesta  insensibly  strengthened.  He  discovered  that 
there  was  a  real  flavor  of  humor  about  Vesta's  doings, 
and  so  came  to  watch  for  its  development.  She  was 
forever  doing  something  interesting,  and  although  Jennie 
watched  over  her  with  a  care  that  was  in  itself  a  revela- 
tion to  him,  nevertheless  Vesta  managed  to  elude  every 
effort  to  suppress  her  and  came  straight  home  with  her 
remarks.  Once,  for  example,  she  was  sawing  away  at 
a  small  piece  of  meat  upon  her  large  plate  with  her  big 

222 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

knife,  when  Lester  remarked  to  Jennie  that  it  might 
be  advisable  to  get  her  a  little  breakfast  set. 

"She  can  hardly  handle  these  knives." 

"Yes,"  said  Vesta  instantly.  "I  need  a  little  knife. 
My  hand  is  just  so  very  little." 

She  held  it  up.  Jennie,  who  never  could  tell  what  was 
to  follow,  reached  over  and  put  it  down,  while  Lester 
with  difficulty  restrained  a  desire  to  laugh. 

Another  morning,  not  long  after,  she  was  watching 
Jennie  put  the  lumps  of  sugar  in  Lester's  cup,  when  she 
broke  in  with,  "I  want  two  lumps  in  mine,  mamma." 

"No,  dearest,"  replied  Jennie,  "you  don't  need  any  in 
yours.  You  have  milk  to  drink." 

"Uncle  Lester  has  two,"  she  protested. 

"Yes,"  returned  Jennie;  "but  you're  only  a  little  girl. 
Besides  you  mustn't  say  anything  like  that  at  the  table. 
It  isn't  nice." 

"Uncle  Lester  eats  too  much  sugar,"  was  her  immedi- 
ate rejoinder,  at  which  that  fine  gourmet  smiled  broadly. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  put  in,  for  the  first  time 
deigning  to  answer  her  directly.  "That  sounds  like  the 
fox  and  grapes  to  me."  Vesta  smiled  back  at  him,  and 
now  that  the  ice  was  broken  she  chattered  on  unre- 
strainedly. One  thing  led  to  another,  and  at  last  Lester 
felt  as  though,  in  a  way,  the  little  girl  belonged  to  him; 
he  was  willing  even  that  she  should  share  in  such  oppor- 
tunities as  his  position  and  wealth  might  make  possible — 
provided,  of  course,  that  he  stayed  with  Jennie,  and  that 
they  worked  out  some  arrangement  which  would  not  put 
him  hopelessly  out  of  touch  with  the  world  which  was 
back  of  him,  and  which  he  had  to  keep  constantly  in 
mind. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE  following  spring  the  show-rooms  and  ware- 
house were  completed,  and  Lester  removed  his 
office  to  the  new  building.  Heretofore,  he  had  been 
transacting  all  his  business  affairs  at  the  Grand  Pacific 
and  the  club.  From  now  on  he  felt  himself  to  be  firmly 
established  in  Chicago — as  if  that  was  to  be  his  future 
home.  A  large  number  of  details  were  thrown  upon  him — 
the  control  of  a  considerable  office  force,  and  the  handling 
of  various  important  transactions.  It  took  away  from 
him  the  need  of  traveling,  that  duty  going  to  Amy's 
husband,  under  the  direction  of  Robert.  The  latter  was 
doing  his  best  to  push  his  personal  interests,  not  only 
through  the  influence  he  was  bringing  to  bear  upon  his 
sisters,  but  through  his  reorganization  of  the  factory. 
Several  men  whom  Lester  was  personally  fond  of  were 
in  danger  of  elimination.  But  Lester  did  not  hear  of  this, 
and  Kane  senior  was  inclined  to  give  Robert  a  free  hand. 
Age  was  telling  on  him.  He  was  glad  to  see  some  one 
with  a  strong  policy  come  up  and  take  charge.  Lester 
did  not  seem  to  mind.  Apparently  he  and  Robert  were 
on  better  terms  than  ever  before. 

Matters  might  have  gone  on  smoothly  enough  were  it 
not  for  the  fact  that  Lester's  private  life  with  Jennie  was 
not  a  matter  which  could  be  permanently  kept  under 
cover.  At  times  he  was  seen  driving  with  her  by  people 
who  knew  him  in  a  social  and  commercial  way.  He  was 
for  brazening  it  out  on  the  ground  that  he  was  a  single 
man,  and  at  liberty  to  associate  with  anybody  he  pleased. 
Jennie  might  be  any  young  woman  of  good  family  in 

224 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

whom  he  was  interested.  He  did  not  propose  to  intro- 
duce her  to  anybody  if  he  could  help  it,  and  he  always 
made  it  a  point  to  be  a  fast  traveler  in  driving,  in  order 
that  others  might  not  attempt  to  detain  and  talk  to  him. 
At  the  theater,  as  has  been  said,  she  was  simply  "Miss 
Gerhardt." 

The  trouble  was  that  many  of  his  friends  were  also 
keen  observers  of  life.  They  had  no  quarrel  to  pick 
with  Lester's  conduct.  Only  he  had  been  seen  in  other 
cities,  in  times  past,  with  this  same  woman.  She  must 
be  some  one  whom  he  was  maintaining  irregularly. 
Well,  what  of  it  ?  Wealth  and  youthful  spirits  must  have 
their  fling.  Rumors  came  to  Robert,  who,  however,  kept 
his  own  counsel.  If  Lester  wanted  to  do  this  sort  of 
thing,  well  and  good.  But  there  must  come  a  time  when 
there  would  be  a  show-down. 

This  came  about  in  one  form  about  a  year  and  a  half 
after  Lester  and  Jennie  had  been  living  in  the  north  side 
apartment.  It  so  happened  that,  during  a  stretch  of 
inclement  weather  in  the  fall,  Lester  was  seized  with  a 
mild  form  of  grip.  When  he  felt  the  first  symptoms 
he  thought  that  his  indisposition  would  be  a  matter  of 
short  duration,  and  tried  to  overcome  it  by  taking  a 
hot  bath  and  a  liberal  dose  of  quinine.  But  the  infec- 
tion was  stronger  than  he  counted  on;  by  morning  he 
was  flat  on  his  back,  with  a  severe  fever  and  a  splitting 
headache. 

His  long  period  of  association  with  Jennie  had  made 
him  incautious.  Policy  would  have  dictated  that  he 
should  betake  himself  to  his  hotel  and  endure  his  sick- 
ness alone.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  very  glad  to  be 
in  the  house  with  her.  He  had  to  call  up  the  office  to 
say  that  he  was  indisposed  and  would  not  be  down  for  a 
day  or  so;  then  he  yielded  himself  comfortably  to  her 
patient  ministrations. 

Jennie,  of  course,  was  delighted  to  have  Lester  with 
her,  sick  or  well.  She  persuaded  him  to  see  a  doctor  and 

225 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

have  him  prescribe.  She  brought  him  potions  of  hot 
lemonade,  and  bathed  his  face  and  hands  in  cold  water 
over  and  over.  Later,  when  he  was  recovering,  she  made 
him  appetizing  cups  of  beef-tea  or  gruel. 

It  was  during  this  illness  that  the  first  real  contre- 
temps occurred.  Lester's  sister  Louise,  who  had  been 
visiting  friends  in  St.  Paul,  and  who  had  written  him  that 
she  might  stop  off  to  see  him  on  her  way,  decided  upon  an 
earlier  return  than  she  had  originally  planned.  While 
Lester  was  sick  at  his  apartment  she  arrived  in  Chicago. 
Calling  up  the  office,  and  finding  that  he  was  not  there 
and  would  not  be  down  for  several  days,  she  asked  where 
he  could  be  reached. 

"I  think  he  is  at  his  rooms  in  the  Grand  Pacific,"  said 
an  incautious  secretary.  "He's  not  feeling  well." 
Louise,  a  little  disturbed,  telephoned  to  the  Grand  Pa- 
cific, and  was  told  that  Mr.  Kane  had  not  been  there  for 
several  days — did  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  occupy  his 
rooms  more  than  one  or  two  days  a  week.  Piqued  by 
this,  she  telephoned  his  club. 

It  so  happened  that  at  the  club  there  was  a  telephone 
boy  who  had  called  up  the  apartment  a  number  of  times 
for  Lester  himself.  He  had  not  been  cautioned  not  to 
give  its  number — as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  had  never  been 
asked  for  by  any  one  else.  When  Louise  stated  that  she 
was  Lester's  sister,  and  was  anxious  to  find  him,  the  boy 
replied,  "I  think  he  lives  at  19  Schiller  Place." 

"Whose  address  is  that  you're  giving?"  inquired  a 
passing  clerk. 

"Mr.  Kane's." 

"Well,  don't  be  giving  out  addresses.  Don't  you 
know  that  yet?" 

The  boy  apologized,  but  Louise  had  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver and  was  gone. 

About  an  hour  later,  curious  as  to  this  third  residence 
of  her  brother,  Louise  arrived  at  Schiller  Place.  Ascend- 
ing the  steps — it  was  a  two-apartment  house — she  saw 

226 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

the  name  of  Kane  on  the  door  leading  to  the  second 
floor.  Ringing  the  bell,  she  was  opened  to  by  Jennie, 
who  was  surprised  to  see  so  fashionably  attired  a  young 
woman. 

"This  is  Mr.  Kane's  apartment,  I  believe,"  began 
Louise,  condescendingly,  as  she  looked  in  at  the  open 
door  behind  Jennie.  She  was  a  little  surprised  to  meet 
a  young  woman,  but  her  suspicions  were  as  yet  only 
vaguely  aroused. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jennie. 

"He's  sick,  I  believe.  I'm  his  sister.  May  I  come 
in?" 

Jennie,  had  she  had  time  to  collect  her  thoughts,  would 
have  tried  to  make  some  excuse,  but  Louise,  with  the 
audacity  of  her  birth  and  station,  swept  past  before 
Jennie  could  say  a  word.  Once  inside  Louise  looked 
about  her  inquiringly.  She  found  herself  in  the  sitting- 
room,  which  gave  into  the  bedroom  where  Lester  was 
lying.  Vesta  happened  to  be  playing  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  and  stood  up  to  eye  the  new-comer.  The  open 
bedroom  showed  Lester  quite  plainly  lying  in  bed,  a 
window  to  the  left  of  him,  his  eyes  closed. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  old  fellow!"  exclaimed  Louise. 
"What's  ailing  you?"  she  hurried  on. 

Lester,  who  at  the  sound  of  her  voice  had  opened  his 
eyes,  realized  in  an  instant  how  things  were.  He  pulled 
himself  up  on  one  elbow,  but  words  failed  him. 

"Why,  hello,  Louise,"  he  finally  forced  himself  to  say. 
"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

"  St.  Paul.  I  came  back  sooner  than  I  thought,"  she 
answered  lamely,  a  sense  of  something  wrong  irritating 
her.  "I  had  a  hard  time  finding  you,  too.  Who's 
your — "  she  was  about  to  say  "pretty  housekeeper," 
but  turned  to  find  Jennie  dazedly  gathering  up  certain 
articles  in  the  adjoining  room  and  looking  dreadfully 
distraught. 

Lester  cleared  his  throat  hopelessly. 
16  227 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

His  sister  swept  the  place  with  an  observing  eye.  It 
took  in  the  home  atmosphere,  which  was  both  pleasing 
and  suggestive.  There  was  a  dress  of  Jennie's  lying 
across  a  chair,  in  a  familiar  way,  which  caused  Miss  Kane 
to  draw  herself  up  warily.  She  looked  at  her  brother, 
who  had  a  rather  curious  expression  in  his  eyes — he 
seemed  slightly  nonplussed,  but  cool  and  defiant. 

"You  shouldn't  have  come  out  here,"  said  Lester 
finally,  before  Louise  could  give  vent  to  the  rising 
question  in  her  mind. 

"Why  shouldn't  I?"  she  exclaimed,  angered  at  the 
brazen  confession.  "You're  my  brother,  aren't  you? 
Why  should  you  have  any  place  that  I  couldn't  come. 
Well,  I  like  that — and  from  you  to  me." 

"Listen,  Louise,"  went  on  Lester,  drawing  himself  up 
further  on  one  elbow.  "You  know  as  much  about  life 
as  I  do.  There  is  no  need  of  our  getting  into  an  argu- 
ment. I  didn't  know  you  were  coming,  or  I  would  have 
made  other  arrangements." 

"Other  arrangements,  indeed,"  she  sneered.  "I 
should  think  as  much.  The  idea !" 

She  was  greatly  irritated  to  think  that  she  had  fallen 
into  this  trap ;  it  was  really  disgraceful  of  Lester. 

"I  wouldn't  be  so  haughty  about  it,"  he  declared, 
his  color  rising.  "I'm  not  apologizing  to  you  for  my 
conduct.  I'm  saying  I  would  have  made  other  ar- 
rangements, which  is  a  very  different  thing  from  beg- 
ging your  pardon.  If  you  don't  want  to  be  civil,  you 
needn't." 

"Why,  Lester  Kane!"  she  exclaimed,  her  cheeks 
flaming.  "I  thought  better  of  you,  honestly  I  did.  I 
should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  of  yourself  living 
here  in  open — "  she  paused  without  using  the  word — • 
"and  our  friends  scattered  all  over  the  city.  It's  terri- 
ble! I  thought  you  had  more  sense  of  decency  and 
consideration. ' ' 

"Decency  nothing,"  he  flared.  "I  tell  you  I'm  not 

228 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

apologizing  to  you.  If  you  don't  like  this  you  know 
what  you  can  do." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "This  from  my  own  brother! 
And  for  the  sake  of  that  creature !  Whose  child  is  that  ?" 
she  demanded,  savagely  and  yet  curiously. 

"Never  mind,  it's  not  mine.  If  it  were  it  wouldn't 
make  any  difference.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  busy  yourself 
about  my  affairs." 

Jennie,  who  had  been  moving  about  the  dining-room 
beyond  the  sitting-room,  heard  the  cutting  references  to 
herself.  She  winced  with  pain. 

"Don't  flatter  yourself.  I  won't  any  more,"  retorted 
Louise.  "I  should  think,  though,  that  you,  of  all  men, 
would  be  above  anything  like  this — and  that  with  a 
woman  so  obviously  beneath  you.  Why,  I  thought  she 
was — "  she  was  again  going  to  add  "your  housekeeper," 
but  she  was  interrupted  by  Lester,  who  was  angry  to 
the  point  of  brutality. 

"  Never  mind  what  you  thought  she  was,"  he  growled. 
"She's  better  than  some  who  do  the  so-called  superior 
thinking.  I  know  what  you  think.  It's  neither  here 
nor  there,  I  tell  you.  I'm  doing  this,  and  I  don't  care 
what  you  think.  I  have  to  take  the  blame.  Don't 
bother  about  me." 

"Well,  I  won't,  I  assure  you,"  she  flung  back.  "It's 
quite  plain  that  your  family  means  nothing  to  you.  But 
if  you  had  any  sense  of  decency,  Lester  Kane,  you  would 
never  let  your  sister  be  trapped  into  coming  into  a  place 
like  this.  I'm  disgusted,  that's  all,  and  so  will  the  others 
be  when  they  hear  of  it." 

She  turned  on  her  heel  and  walked  scornfully  out,  a 
withering  look  being  reserved  for  Jennie,  who  had  un- 
fortunately stepped  near  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 
Vesta  had  disappeared.  Jennie  came  in  a  little  while 
later  and  closed  the  door.  She  knew  of  nothing  to  say. 
Lester,  his  thick  hair  pushed  back  from  his  vigorous  face, 
leaned  back  moodily  on  his  pillow.  "What  a  devilish 

229 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

trick  of  fortune,"  he  thought.  Now  she  would  go  home 
and  tell  it  to  the  family.  His  father  would  know,  and 
his  mother.  Robert,  Imogene,  Amy — all  would  hear. 
He  would  have  no  explanation  to  make — she  had  seen. 
He  stared  at  the  wall  meditatively. 

Meanwhile  Jennie,  moving  about  her  duties,  also 
found  food  for  reflection.  So  this  was  her  real  position  in 
another  woman's  eyes.  Now  she  could  see  what  the 
world  thought.  This  family  was  as  aloof  from  her  as  if 
it  lived  on  another  planet.  To  his  sisters  and  brothers, 
his  father  and  mother,  she  was  a  bad  woman,  a  creature 
far  beneath  him  socially,  far  beneath  him  mentally  and 
morally,  a  creature  of  the  streets.  And  she  had  hoped 
somehow  to  rehabilitate  herself  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
It  cut  her  as  nothing  before  had  ever  done.  The  thought 
tore  a  great,  gaping  wound  in  her  sensibilities.  She  was 
really  low  and  vile  in  her — Louise's — eyes,  in  the  world's 
eyes,  basically  so  in  Lester's  eyes.  How  could  it  be  other- 
wise? She  went  about  numb  and  still,  but  the  ache  of 
defeat  and  disgrace  was  under  it  all.  Oh,  if  she  could 
only  see  some  way  to  make  herself  right  with  the  world, 
to  live  honorably,  to  be  decent.  How  could  that  pos- 
sibly be  brought  about?  It  ought  to  be  —  she  knew 
that.  But  how? 


CHAPTER   XXXIH 

OUTRAGED  in  her  family  pride,  Louise  lost  no  time 
in  returning  to  Cincinnati,  where  she  told  the  story 
of  her  discovery,  embellished  with  many  details.  Ac- 
cording to  her,  she  was  met  at  the  door  by  a  "silly-look- 
ing, white-faced  woman,"  who  did  not  even  offer  to  invite 
her  in  when  she  announced  her  name,  but  stood  there 
"looking  just  as  guilty  as  a  person  possibly  could." 
Lester  also  had  acted  shamefully,  having  outbrazened 
the  matter  to  her  face.  When  she  had  demanded  to 
know  whose  the  child  was  he  had  refused  to  tell  her. 
"  It  isn't  mine,"  was  all  he  would  say. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kane,  who  was  the 
first  to  hear  the  story.  "My  son,  my  Lester!  How 
could  he  have  done  it!" 

"And  such  a  creature !"  exclaimed  Louise  emphatically, 
as  though  the  words  needed  to  be  reiterated  to  give  them 
any  shadow  of  reality. 

"I  went  there  solely  because  I  thought  I  could  help 
him,"  continued  Louise.  "I  thought  when  they  said  he 
was  indisposed  that  he  might  be  seriously  ill.  How 
should  I  have  known?" 

"  Poor  Lester!  "  exclaimed  her  mother.  "To  think  he 
would  come  to  anything  like  that!  " 

Mrs.  Kane  turned  the  difficult  problem  over  in  her 
mind  and,  having  no  previous  experiences  whereby  to 
measure  it,  telephoned  for  old  Archibald,  who  came  out 
from  the  factory  and  sat  through  the  discussion  with  a 
solemn  countenance.  So  Lester  was  living  openly  with 

2.31 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

a  woman  of  whom  they  had  never  heard.  He  would 
probably  be  as  defiant  and  indifferent  as  his  nature  was 
strong.  The  standpoint  of  parental  authority  was  im- 
possible. Lester  was  a  centralized  authority  in  himself, 
and  if  any  overtures  for  a  change  of  conduct  were  to  be 
made,  they  would  have  to  be  very  diplomatically  exe- 
cuted. 

Archibald  Kane  returned  to  the  manufactory  sore  and 
disgusted,  but  determined  that  something  ought  to  be 
done.  He  held  a  consultation  with  Robert,  who  con- 
fessed that  he  had  heard  disturbing  rumors  from  time  to 
time,  but  had  not  wanted  to  say  anything.  Mrs.  Kane 
suggested  that  Robert  might  go  to  Chicago  and  have  a 
talk  with  Lester. 

"He  ought  to  see  that  this  thing,  if  continued,  is  going 
to  do  him  irreparable  damage,"  said  Mr.  Kane.  "He 
cannot  hope  to  carry  it  off  successfully.  Nobody  can. 
He  ought  to  marry  her  or  he  ought  to  quit.  I  want  you 
to  tell  him  that  for  me." 

"All  well  and  good,"  said  Robert,  "but  who's  going  to 
convince  him  ?  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  the  job." 

"I  hope  to,"  said  old  Archibald,  "eventually;  but 
you'd  better  go  up  and  try,  anyhow.  It  can't  do  any 
harm.  He  might  come  to  his  senses." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  replied  Robert.  "He's  a  strong 
man.  You  see  how  much  good  talk  does  down  here. 
Still,  I'll  go  if  it  will  relieve  your  feelings  any.  Mother 
wants  it." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  his  father  distractedly,  "better 
go." 

Accordingly  Robert  went.  Without  allowing  himself 
to  anticipate  any  particular  measure  of  success  in  this 
\renture,  he  rode  pleasantly  into  Chicago  confident  in  the 
reflection  that  he  had  all  the  powers  of  morality  and 
justice  on  his  side. 

Upon  Robert's  arrival,  the  third  morning  after  Louise's 
interview,  he  called  up  the  warerooms,  but  Lester  was 

232 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

not  there.  He  then  telephoned  to  the  house,  and  tact* 
fully  made  an  appointment.  Lester  was  still  indisposed, 
but  he  preferred  to  come  down  to  the  office,  and  he  did. 
He  met  Robert  in  his  cheerful,  nonchalant  way,  and  to- 
gether they  talked  business  for  a  time.  Then  followed 
a  pregnant  silence. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  know  what  brought  me  up  here, ' 
began  Robert  tentatively. 

"  I  think  I  could  make  a  guess  at  it,"  Lester  replied. 

"They  were  all  very  much  worried  over  the  fact  that 
you  were  sick — mother  particularly.  You're  not  in  any 
danger  of  having  a  relapse,  are  you?" 

"  I  think  not." 

"Louise  said  there  was  some  sort  of  a  peculiar  manage 
she  ran  into  up  here.  You're  not  married,  are  you  ?" 

"No." 

"The  young  woman  Louise  saw  is  just — "  Robert 
waved  his  hand  expressively. 

Lester  nodded. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  inquisitive,  Lester.  I  didn't  come 
up  for  that.  I'm  simply  here  because  the  family  felt  that 
I  ought  to  come.  Mother  was  so  very  much  distressed 
that  I  couldn't  do  less  than  see  you  for  her  sake — "  he 
paused,  and  Lester,  touched  by  the  fairness  and  respect 
of  his  attitude,  felt  that  mere  courtesy  at  least  made 
some  explanation  due. 

"  I  don't  know  that  anything  I  can  say  will  help  mat- 
ters much,"  he  replied  thoughtfully.  "There's  really 
nothing  to  be  said.  I  have  the  woman  and  the  family 
has  its  objections.  The  chief  difficulty  about  the  thing 
seems  to  be  the  bad  luck  in  being  found  out." 

He  stopped,  and  Robert  turned  over  the  substance  of 
this  worldly  reasoning  in  his  mind.  Lester  was  very 
calm  about  it.  He  seemed,  as  usual,  to  be  most  con- 
vincingly sane. 

"You're  not  contemplating  marrying  her,  are  you?" 
queried  Robert  hesitatingly. 

233 


JENNI E    GERHARDT 

"I  hadn't  come  to  that,"  answered  Lester  coolly. 

They  looked  at  each  other  quietly  for  a  moment, 
and  then  Robert  turned  his  glance  to  the  distant  scene 
of  the  city. 

"It's  useless  to  ask  whether  you  are  seriously  in  love 
with  her,  I  suppose,"  ventured  Robert. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'd  be  able  to  discuss  that 
divine  afflatus  with  you  or  not,"  returned  Lester,  with  a 
touch  of  grim  humor.  "I  have  never  experienced  the 
sensation  myself.  All  I  know  is  that  the  lady  is  very 
pleasing  to  me." 

"Well,  it's  all  a  question  of  your  own  well-being  and 
the  family's,  Lester,"  went  on  Robert,  after  another 
pause.  "Morality  does'nt  seem  to  figure  in  it  anyway — 
at  least  you  and  I  can't  discuss  that  together.  Your 
feelings  on  that  score  naturally  relate  to  you  alone. 
But  the  matter  of  your  own  personal  welfare  seems  to  me 
to  be  substantial  enough  ground  to  base  a  plea  on.  The 
family's  feelings  and  pride  are  also  fairly  important. 
Father's  the  kind  of  a  man  who  sets  more  store  by  the 
honor  of  his  family  than  most  men.  You  know  that  as 
well  as  I  do,  of  course." 

"I  know  how  father  feels  about  it,"  returned  Lester. 
"The  whole  business  is  as  clear  to  me  as  it  is  to  any  of 
you,  though  off-hand  I  don't  see  just  what's  to  be  done 
about  it.  These  matters  aren't  always  of  a  day's  growth, 
and  they  can't  be  settled  in  a  day.  The  girl's  here.  To 
a  certain  extent  I'm  responsible  that  she  is  here.  While 
I'm  not  willing  to  go  into  details,  there's  always  more  in 
these  affairs  than  appears  on  the  court  calendar." 

"Of  course  I  don't  know  what  your  relations  with  her 
have  been,"  returned  Robert,  "and  I'm  not  curious  to 
know,  but  it  does  look  like  a  bit  of  injustice  all  around, 
don't  you  think — unless  you  intend  to  marry  her  ?  "  This 
last  was  put  forth  as  a  feeler. 

"  I  might  be  willing  to  agree  to  that,  too,"  was  Lester's 
baffling  reply,  "if  anything  were  to  be  gained  by  it.  The 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

point  is,  the  woman  is  here,  and  the  family  is  in  possession 
of  the  fact.  Now  if  there  is  anything  to  be  done  I  have 
to  do  it.  There  isn't  anybody  else  who  can  act  for  me  in 
this  matter." 

Lester  lapsed  into  a  silence,  and  Robert  rose  and  paced 
the  floor,  coming  back  after  a  time  to  say :  "  You  say  you 
haven't  any  idea  of  marrying  her — or  rather  you  haven't 
come  to  it.  I  wouldn't,  Lester.  It  seems  to  me  you 
would  be  making  the  mistake  of  your  life,  from  every 
point  of  view.  I  don't  want  to  orate,  but  a  man  of  your 
position  has  so  much  to  lose;  you  can't  afford  to  do 
it.  Aside  from  family  considerations,  you  have  too 
much  at  stake.  You'd  be  simply  throwing  your  life 
away — ' ' 

He  paused,  with  his  right  hand  held  out  before  him,  as 
was  customary  when  he  was  deeply  in  earnest,  and  Lester 
felt  the  candor  and  simplicity  of  this  appeal.  Robert 
was  not  criticizing  him  now.  He  was  making  an  appeal 
to  him,  and  this  was  somewhat  different. 

The  appeal  passed  without  comment,  however,  and 
then  Robert  began  on  a  new  tack,  this  time  picturing  old 
Archibald's  fondness  for  Lester  and  the  hope  he  had 
always  entertained  that  he  would  marry  some  well-to-do 
Cincinnati  girl,  Catholic,  if  agreeable  to  him,  but  at  least 
worthy  of  his  station.  And  Mrs.  Kane  felt  the  same 
way;  surely  Lester  must  realize  that. 

"I  know  just  how  all  of  them  feel  about  it,"  Lester 
interrupted  at  last,  "but  I  don't  see  that  anything's  to 
be  done  right  now." 

"You  mean  that  you  don't  think  it  would  be  policy 
for  you  to  give  her  up  just  at  present  ? " 

"  I  mean  that  she's  been  exceptionally  good  to  me,  and 
that  I'm  morally  under  obligations  to  do  the  best  I  can 
by  her.  What  that  may  be,  I  can't  tell." 

"To  live  with  her?"  inquired  Robert  coolly. 

"Certainly  not  to  turn  her  out  bag  and  baggage  if  she 
has  been  accustomed  to  live  with  me,"  replied  Lester. 

235 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Robert  sat  down  again,  as  if  he  considered  his  recent 
appeal  futile. 

"Can't  family  reasons  persuade  you  to  make  some 
amicable  arrangements  with  her  and  let  her  go?" 

"Not  without  due  consideration  of  the  matter;   no." 

"You  don't  think  you  could  hold  out  some  hope  that 
the  thing  will  end  quickly — something  that  would  give 
me  a  reasonable  excuse  for  softening  down  the  pain  of  it 
to  the  family?" 

"I  would  be  perfectly  willing  to  do  anything  which 
would  take  away  the  edge  of  this  thing  for  the  family,  but 
the  truth's  the  truth,  and  I  can't  see  any  room  for  equiv- 
ocation between  you  and  me.  As  I've  said  before,  these 
relationships  are  involved  with  things  which  make  it 
impossible  to  discuss  them — unfair  to  me,  unfair  to  the 
woman.  No  one  can  see  how  they  are  to  be  handled, 
except  the  people  that  are  in  them,  and  even  they  can't 
always  see.  I'd  be  a  damned  dog  to  stand  up  here  and 
give  you  my  word  to  do  anything  except  the  best  I  can." 

Lester  stopped,  and  now  Robert  rose  and  paced  the 
floor  again,  only  to  come  back  after  a  time  and  say,  "  You 
don't  think  there's  anything  to  be  done  just  at  present  ? " 

"Not  at  present." 

"Very  well,  then,  I  expect  I  might  as  well  be  going. 
I  don't  know  that  there's  anything  else  we  can  talk 
about." 

"Won't  you  stay  and  take  lunch  with  me?  I  think 
I  might  manage  to  get  down  to  the  hotel  if  you'll  stay." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  answered  Robert.  "  I  believe  I  can 
make  that  one  o'clock  train  for  Cincinnati.  I'll  try, 
anyhow." 

They  stood  before  each  other  now,  Lester  pale  and 
rather  flaccid,  Robert  clear,  wax-like,  well-knit,  and 
shrewd,  and  one  could  see  the  difference  time  had  already 
made.  Robert  was  the  clean,  decisive  man,  Lester  the 
man  of  doubts.  Robert  was  the  spirit  of  business  energy 
and  integrity  embodied,  Lester  the  spirit  of  commercial 

236 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

self-sufficiency,  looking  at  life  with  an  uncertain  eye. 
Together  they  made  a  striking  picture,  which  was  none 
the  less  powerful  for  the  thoughts  that  were  now  running 
through  their  minds. 

"Well,"  said  the  older  brother,  after  a  time,  "I  don't 
suppose  there  is  anything  more  I  can  say.  I  had  hoped 
to  make  you  feel  just  as  we  do  about  this  thing,  but  of 
course  you  are  your  own  best  judge  of  this.  If  you  don't 
see  it  now,  nothing  I  could  say  would  make  you.  It 
strikes  me  as  a  very  bad  move  on  your  part  though." 

Lester  listened.  He  said  nothing,  but  his  face  ex- 
pressed an  unchanged  purpose. 

Robert  turned  for  his  hat,  and  they  walked  to  the  office 
door  together. 

"I'll  put  the  best  face  I  can  on  it,"  said  Robert,  and 
walked  out. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

IN  this  world  of  ours  the  activities  of  animal  life 
seem  to  be  limited  to  a  plane  or  circle,  as  if  that 
were  an  inherent  necessity  to  the  creatures  of  a  planet 
which  is  perforce  compelled  to  swing  about  the  sun.  A 
fish,  for  instance,  may  not  pass  out  of  the  circle  of  the 
seas  without  courting  annihilation ;  a  bird  may  not  enter 
the  domain  of  the  fishes  without  paying  for  it  dearly. 
From  the  parasites  of  the  flowers  to  the  monsters  of  the 
jungle  and  the  deep  we  see  clearly  the  circumscribed 
nature  of  their  movements — the  emphatic  manner  in 
which  life  has  limited  them  to  a  sphere ;  and  we  are  con- 
tent to  note  the  ludicrous  and  invariably  fatal  results 
which  attend  any  effort  on  their  part  to  depart  from  their 
environment. 

In  the  case  of  man,  however,  the  operation  of  this 
theory  of  limitations  has  not  as  yet  been  so  clearly  ob- 
served. The  laws  governing  our  social  life  are  not  so 
clearly  understood  as  to  permit  of  a  clear  generalization. 
Still,  the  opinions,  pleas,  and  judgments  of  society  serve 
as  boundaries  which  are  none  the  less  real  for  being  in- 
tangible. When  men  or  women  err — that  is,  pass  out 
from  the  sphere  in  which  they  are  accustomed  to  move — 
it  is  not  as  if  the  bird  had  intruded  itself  into  the  water, 
or  the  wild  animal  into  the  haunts  of  man.  Annihilation 
is  not  the  immediate  result.  People  may  do  no  more 
than  elevate  their  eyebrows  in  astonishment,  laugh 
sarcastically,  lift  up  their  hands  in  protest.  And  yet  so 
well  defined  is  the  sphere  of  social  activity  that  he  who 
departs  from  it  is  doomed.  Born  and  bred  in  this  en- 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

vironment,  the  individual  is  practically  unfitted  for  any 
other  state.  He  is  like  a  bird  accustomed  to  a  certain 
density  of  atmosphere,  and  which  cannot  live  com- 
fortably at  either  higher  or  lower  level. 

Lester  sat  down  in  his  easy-chair  by  the  window  after 
his  brother  had  gone  and  gazed  ruminatively  out  over 
the  nourishing  city.  Yonder  was  spread  out  before  him  . 
life  with  its  concomitant  phases  of  energy,  hope,  pros- 
perity, and  pleasure,  and  here  he  was  suddenly  struck  by 
a  wind  of  misfortune  and  blown  aside  for  the  time  being 
— his  prospects  and  purposes  dissipated.  Could  he  con- 
tinue as  cheerily  in  the  paths  he  had  hitherto  pursued? 
Would  not  his  relations  with  Jennie  be  necessarily 
affected  by  this  sudden  tide  of  opposition  ?  Was  not  his 
own  home  now  a  thing  of  the  past  so  far  as  his  old  easy- 
going relationship  was  concerned?  All  the  atmosphere 
of  unstained  affection  would  be  gone  out  of  it  now. 
That  hearty  look  of  approval  which  used  to  dwell  in  his 
father's  eye — would  it  be  there  any  longer?  Robert, 
his  relations  with  the  manufactory,  everything  that  was 
a  part  of  his  old  life,  had  been  affected  by  this  sudden 
intrusion  of  Louise. 

"It's  unfortunate,"  was  all  that  he  thought  to  himself , 
and  therewith  turned  from  what  he  considered  senseless 
brooding  to  the  consideration  of  what,  if  anything,  was 
to  be  done. 

"I'm  thinking  I'd  take  a  run  up  to  Mt.  Clemens  to- 
morrow, or  Thursday  anyhow,  if  I  feel  strong  enough," 
he  said  to  Jennie  after  he  had  returned.  "I'm  not  feel- 
ing as  well  as  I  might.  A  few  days  will  do  me  good." 
He  wanted  to  get  off  by  himself  and  think.  Jennie 
packed  his  bag  for  him  at  the  given  time,  and  he  depart- 
ed, but  he  was  in  a  sullen,  meditative  mood. 

During  the  week  that  followed  he  had  ample  time  to 
think  it  all  over,  the  result  of  his  cogitations  being  that 
there  was  no  need  of  making  a  decisive  move  at  present. 
A  few  weeks  more,  one  way  or  the  other,  could  not  make 

239 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

any  practical  difference.  Neither  Robert  nor  any  othei 
member  of  the  family  was  at  all  likely  to  seek  another 
conference  with  him.  His  business  relations  would 
necessarily  go  on  as  usual,  since  they  were  coupled  with 
the  welfare  of  the  manufactory;  certainly  no  attempt  to 
coerce  him  would  be  attempted.  But  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  at  hopeless  variance  with  his  family  weighed 
upon  him.  "Bad  business,"  he  meditated — "bad  busi- 
ness." But  he  did  not  change. 

For  the  period  of  a  whole  year  this  unsatisfactory 
state  of  affairs  continued.  Lester  did  not  go  home  for 
six  months;  then  an  important  business  conference  de- 
manding his  presence,  he  appeared  and  carried  it  off 
quite  as  though  nothing  important  had  happened.  His 
mother  kissed  him  affectionately,  if  a  little  sadly;  his 
father  gave  him  his  customary  greeting,  a  hearty  hand- 
shake; Robert,  Louise,  Amy,  Imogene,  concertedly, 
though  without  any  verbal  understanding,  agreed  to 
ignore  the  one  real  issue.  But  the  feeling  of  estrange- 
ment was  there,  and  it  persisted.  Hereafter  his  visits 
to  Cincinnati  were  as  few  and  far  between  as  he  could 
possibly  make  them. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

IN  the  meantime  Jennie  had  been  going  through  a 
moral  crisis  of  her  own.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  aside  from  the  family  attitude,  which  had  afflicted 
her  greatly,  she  realized  what  the  world  thought  of  her. 
She  was  bad — she  knew  that.  She  had  yielded  on  two 
occasions  to  the  force  of  circumstances  which  might  have 
been  fought  out  differently.  If  only  she  had  had  more 
courage !  If  she  did  not  always  have  this  haunting  sense 
of  fear !  If  she  could  only  make  up  her  mind  to  do  the 
right  thing!  Lester  would  never  marry  her.  Why 
should  he  ?  She  loved  him,  but  she  could  leave  him,  and 
it  would  be  better  for  him.  Probably  her  father  would 
live  with  her  if  she  went  back  to  Cleveland.  He  would 
honor  her  for  at  last  taking  a  decent  stand.  Yet  the 
thought  of  leaving  Lester  was  a  terrible  one  to  her — he 
had  been  so  good.  As  for  her  father,  she  was  not  sure 
whether  he  would  receive  her  or  not. 

After  the  tragic  visit  of  Louise  she  began  to  think  of 
saving  a  little  money,  laying  it  aside  as  best  she  could 
from  her  allowance.  Lester  was  generous  and  she  had 
been  able  to  send  home  regularly  fifteen  dollars  a  week 
to  maintain  the  family — as  much  as  they  had  lived  on 
before,  without  any  help  from  the  outside.  She  spent 
twenty  dollars  to  maintain  the  table,  for  Lester  required 
the  best  of  everything — fruits,  meats,  desserts,  liquors, 
and  what  not.  The  rent  was  fifty-five  dollars,  with 
clothes  and  extras  a  varying  sum.  Lester  gave  her 
fifty  dollars  a  week,  but  somehow  it  had  all  gone.  She 
thought  how  she  might  economize  but  this  seemed  wrong, 

241 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

Better  go  without  taking  anything,  if  she  were  going,  was 
the  thought  that  came  to  her.  It  was  the  only  decent 
thing  to  do. 

She  thought  over  this  week  after  week,  after  the  advent 
of  Louise,  trying  to  nerve  herself  to  the  point  where  she 
could  speak  or  act.  Lester  was  consistently  generous 
and  kind,  but  she  felt  at  times  that  he  himself  might  wish 
it.  He  was  thoughtful,  abstracted.  Since  the  scene 
with  Louise  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  been  a  little 
different.  If  she  could  only  say  to  him  that  she  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  way  she  was  living,  and  then  leave. 
But  he  himself  had  plainly  indicated  after  his  discovery 
of  Vesta  that  her  feelings  on  that  score  could  not  matter 
so  very  much  to  him,  since  he  thought  the  presence  of  the 
child  would  definitely  interfere  with  his  ever  marrying 
her.  It  was  her  presence  he  wanted  on  another  basis. 
And  he  was  so  forceful,  she  could  not  argue  with  him 
very  well.  She  decided  if  she  went  it  would  be  best  to 
write  a  letter  and  tell  him  why.  Then  maybe  when  he 
knew  how  she  felt  he  would  forgive  her  and  think  noth- 
ing more  about  it. 

The  condition  of  the  Gerhardt  family  was  not  im- 
proving. Since  Jennie  had  left  Martha  had  married. 
After  several  years  of  teaching  in  the  public  schools  of 
Cleveland  she  had  met  a  young  architect,  and  they  were 
united  after  a  short  engagement.  Martha  had  been 
always  a  little  ashamed  of  her  family,  and  now,  when 
this  new  life  dawned,  she  was  anxious  to  keep  the  con- 
nection as  slight  as  possible.  She  barely  notified  the 
members  of  the  family  of  the  approaching  marriage — 
Jennie  not  at  all — and  to  the  actual  ceremony  she  in- 
vited only  Bass  and  George.  Gerhardt,  Veronica,  and 
William  resented  the  slight.  Gerhardt  ventured  upon 
no  comment.  He  .had  had  too  many  rebuffs.  But 
Veronica  was  angry.  She  hoped  that  life  would  give 
her  an  opportunity  to  pay  her  sister  off.  William,  of 
course,  did  not  mind  particularly.  He  was  interested 

242 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

in  the  possibilities  of  becoming  an  electrical  engineer,  a 
career  which  one  of  his  school-teachers  had  pointed  out 
to  him  as  being  attractive  and  promising. 

Jennie  heard  of  Martha's  marriage  after  it  was  all  over, 
a  note  from  Veronica  giving  her  the  main  details.  She 
was  glad  from  one  point  of  view,  but  realized  that  her 
brothers  and  sisters  were  drifting  away  from  her. 

A  little  while  after  Martha's  marriage  Veronica  and 
William  went  to  reside  with  George,  a  break  which  was 
brought  about  by  the  attitude  of  Gerhardt  himself.  Ever 
since  his  wife's  death  and  the  departure  of  the  other 
children  he  had  been  subject  to  moods  of  profound  gloom, 
from  which  he  was  not  easily  aroused.  Life,  it  seemed, 
was  drawing  to  a  close  for  him,  although  he  was  only 
sixty-five  years  of  age.  The  earthly  ambitions  he  had 
once  cherished  were  gone  forever.  He  saw  Sebastian, 
Martha,  and  George  out  in  the  world  practically  ignoring 
him,  contributing  nothing  at  all  to  a  home  which  should 
never  have  taken  a  dollar  from  Jennie.  Veronica  and 
William  were  restless.  They  objected  to  leaving  school 
and  going  to  work,  apparently  preferring  to  live  on 
money  which  Gerhardt  had  long  since  concluded  was 
not  being  come  by  honestly.  He  was  now  pretty 
well  satisfied  as  to  the  true  relations  of  Jennie  and 
Lester.  At  first  he  had  believed  them  to  be  married, 
but  the  way  Lester  had  neglected  Jennie  for  long  periods, 
the  humbleness  with  which  she  ran  at  his  beck  and  call, 
her  fear  of  telling  him  about  Vesta — somehow  it  all 
pointed  to  the  same  thing.  She  had  not  been  married 
at  home.  Gerhardt  had  never  had  sight  of  her  marriage 
certificate.  Since  she  was  away  she  might  have  been 
married,  but  he  did  not  believe  it. 

The  real  trouble  was  that  Gerhardt  had  grown  in- 
tensely morose  and  crotchety,  and  it  was  becoming  im- 
possible for  young  people  to  live  with  him.  Veronica  and 
William  felt  it.  They  resented  the  way  in  which  he  took 
charge  of  the  expenditures  after  Martha  left.  He  ac- 
17  243 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

cused  them  of  spending  too  much  on  clothes  and  amuse- 
ments, he  insisted  that  a  smaller  house  should  be  taken, 
and  he  regularly  sequestered  a  part  of  the  money  which 
Jennie  sent,  for  what  purpose  they  could  hardly  guess. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Gerhardt  was  saving  as  much  as 
possible  in  order  to  repay  Jennie  eventually.  He  thought 
it  was  sinful  to  go  on  in  this  way,  and  this  was  his  one 
method,  out  side  of  his  meager  earnings,  to  redeem  himself. 
If  his  other  children  had  acted  rightly  by  him  he  felt  that 
he  would  not  now  be  left  in  his  old  age  the  recipient  of 
charity  from  one,  who,  despite  her  other  good  qualities, 
was  certainly  not  leading  a  righteous  life.  So  they 
quarreled. 

It  ended  one  winter  month  when  George  agreed  to 
receive  his  complaining  brother  and  sister  on  condition 
that  they  should  get  something  to  do.  Gerhardt  was 
nonplussed  for  a  moment,  but  invited  them  to  take  the 
furniture  and  go  their  way.  His  generosity  shamed 
them  for  the  moment ;  they  even  tentatively  invited  him 
to  come  and  live  with  them,  but  this  he  would  not  do. 
He  would  ask  the  foreman  of  the  mill  he  watched  for  the 
privilege  of  sleeping  in  some  out-of-the-way  garret.  He 
was  always  liked  and  trusted.  And  this  would  save  him 
a  little  money. 

So  in  a  fit  of  pique  he  did  this,  and  there  was  seen  the 
spectacle  of  an  old  man  watching  through  a  dreary 
season  of  nights,  in  a  lonely  trafficless  neighborhood  while 
the  city  pursued  its  gaiety  elsewhere.  He  had  a  wee 
small  corner  in  the  topmost  loft  of  a  warehouse  away 
from  the  tear  and  grind  of  the  factory  proper.  Here 
Gerhardt  slept  by  day.  In  the  afternoon  he  would  take 
a  little  walk,  strolling  toward  the  business  center,  or  out 
along  the  banks  of  the  Cuyahoga,  or  the  lake.  As  a  rule 
his  hands  were  below  his  back,  his  brow  bent  in  medita- 
tion. He  would  even  talk  to  himself  a  little — an  occa- 
sional "By  chops!"  or  "So  it  is"  being  indicative  of  his 
dreary  mood.  At  dusk  he  would  return,  taking  his 

244 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

stand  at  the  lonely  gate  which  was  his  post  of  duty.  His 
meals  he  secured  at  a  nearby  workingmen's  boarding- 
house,  such  as  he  felt  he  must  have. 

The  nature  of  the  old  German's  reflections  at  this  time 
were  of  a  peculiarly  subtle  and  somber  character.  What 
was  this  thing — life?  What  did  it  all  come  to  after 
the  struggle,  and  the  worry,  and  the  grieving?  Where 
does  it  all  go  to  ?  People  die ;  you  hear  nothing  more 
from  them.  His  wife,  now,  she  had  gone.  Where  had 
her  spirit  taken  its  flight? 

Yet  he  continued  to  hold  some  strongly  dogmatic  con- 
victions. He  believed  there  was  a  hell,  and  that  people 
who  sinned  would  go  there.  How  about  Mrs.  Gerhardt  ? 
How  about  Jennie  ?  He  believed  that  both  had  sinned 
woefully.  He  believed  that  the  just  would  be  rewarded 
in  heaven.  But  who  were  the  just  ?  Mrs.  Gerhardt  had 
not  had  a  bad  heart.  Jennie  was  the  soul  of  generosity. 
Take  his  son  Sebastian.  Sebastian  was  a  good  boy,  but 
he  was  cold,  and  certainly  indifferent  to  his  father.  Take 
Martha — she  was  ambitious,  but  obviously  selfish. 
Somehow  the  children,  outside  of  Jennie,  seemed  self- 
centered.  Bass  walked  off  when  he  got  married,  and  did 
nothing  more  for  anybody.  Martha  insisted  that  she 
needed  all  she  made  to  live  on.  George  had  contributed 
for  a  little  while,  but  had  finally  refused  to  help  out. 
Veronica  and  William  had  been  content  to  live  on  Jen- 
nie's money  so  long  as  he  would  allow  it,  and  yet  they 
knew  it  was  not  right.  His  very  existence,  was  it  not  a 
commentary  on  the  selfishness  of  his  children  ?  And  he 
was  getting  so  old.  He  shook  his  head.  Mystery  of  mys- 
teries. Life  was  truly  strange,  and  dark,  and  uncertain. 
Still  he  did  not  want  to  go  and  live  with  any  of  his  chil- 
dren. Actually  they  were  not  worthy  of  him — none  but 
Jennie,  and  she  was  not  good.  So  he  grieved. 

This  woeful  condition  of  affairs  was  not  made  known 
to  Jennie  for  some  time.  She  had  been  sending  her 
letters  to  Martha,  but,  on  her  leaving,  Jennie  had  been 

245 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

writing  directly  to  Gerhardt.  After  Veronica's  depart- 
ure Gerhardt  wrote  to  Jennie  saying  that  there  was  no 
need  of  sending  any  more  money.  Veronica  and  William 
were  going  to  live  with  George.  He  himself  had  a  good 
place  in  a  factory,  and  would  live  there  a  little  while. 
He  returned  her  a  moderate  sum  that  he  had  saved — one 
hundred  and  fifteen  dollars — with  the  word  that  he  would 
not  need  it. 

Jennie  did  not  understand,  but  as  the  others  did  not 
write,  she  was  not  sure  but  what  it  might  be  all  right — 
her  father  was  so  determined.  But  by  degrees,  however, 
a  sense  of  what  it  really  must  mean  overtook  her — a 
sense  of  something  wrong,  and  she  worried,  hesitating 
between  leaving  Lester  and  going  to  see  about  her  father, 
whether  she  left  him  or  not.  Would  he  come  with  her? 
Not  here  certainly.  If  she  were  married,  yes,  possibly. 
If  she  were  alone — probably.  Yet  if  she  did  not  get 
some  work  which  paid  well  they  would  have  a  difficult 
time.  It  was  the  same  old  problem.  What  could  she 
do?  Nevertheless,  she  decided  to  act.  If  she  could  get 
five  or  six  dollars  a  week  they  could  live.  This  hun- 
dred and  fifteen  dollars  which  Gerhardt  had  saved  would 
tide  them  over  the  worst  difficulties  perhaps. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE  trouble  with  Jennie's  plan  was  that  it  did  not 
definitely  take  into  consideration  Lester's  attitude. 
He  did  care  for  her  in  an  elemental  way,  but  he  was 
hedged  about  by  the  ideas  of  the  conventional  world  in 
which  he  had  been  reared.  To  say  that  he  loved  her 
well  enough  to  take  her  for  better  or  worse — to  legalize 
her  anomalous  position  and  to  face  the  world  bravely 
with  the  fact  that  he  had  chosen  a  wife  who  suited  him — 
was  perhaps  going  a  little  too  far,  but  he  did  really  care 
for  her,  and  he  was  not  in  a  mood,  at  this  particular  time, 
to  contemplate  parting  with  her  for  good. 

Lester  was  getting  along  to  that  time  of  life  when  his 
ideas  of  womanhood  were  fixed  and  not  subject  to  change. 
Thus  far,  on  his  own  plane  and  within  the  circle  of  his 
own  associates,  he  had  met  no  one  who  appealed  to 
him  as  did  Jennie.  She  was  gentle,  intelligent,  gracious, 
a  handmaiden  to  his  every  need ;  and  he  had  taught  her 
the  little  customs  of  polite  society,  until  she  was  as  agree- 
able a  companion  as  he  cared  to  have.  He  was  com- 
fortable, he  was  satisfied — why  seek  further? 

But  Jennie's  restlessness  increased  day  by  day.  She 
tried  writing  out  her  views,  and  started  a  half  dozen 
letters  before  she  finally  worded  one  which  seemed, 
partially  at  least,  to  express  her  feelings.  It  was  a  long 
letter  for  her,  and  it  ran  as  follows : 

"  Lester  dear, — When  you  get  this  I  won't  be  here,  and 
I  want  you  not  to  think  harshly  of  me  until  you  have 
read  it  all.  I  am  taking  Vesta  and  leaving,  and  I  think 

247 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

it  is  really  better  that  I  should.  Lester,  I  ought  to  do  it. 
You  know  when  you  met  me  we  were  very  poor,  and  my 
condition  was  such  that  I  didn't  think  any  good  man 
would  ever  want  me.  When  you  came  along  and  told 
me  you  loved  me  I  was  hardly  able  to  think  just  what  I 
ought  to  do.  You  made  me  love  you,  Lester,  in  spite  of 
myself. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  that  I  oughtn't  to  do  anything 
wrong  any  more  and  that  I  wasn't  good,  but  somehow 
when  you  were  near  me  I  couldn't  think  just  right,  and  I 
didn't  see  just  how  I  was  to  get  away  from  you.  Papa 
was  sick  at  home  that  time,  and  there  was  hardly  any- 
thing in  the  house  to  eat.  We  were  all  doing  so  poorly. 
My  brother  George  didn't  have  good  shoes,  and  mamma 
was  so  worried.  I  have  often  thought,  Lester,  if  mamma 
had  not  been  compelled  to  worry  so  much  she  might  be 
alive  to-day.  I  thought  if  you  liked  me  and  I  really 
liked  you — I  love  you,  Lester — maybe  it  wouldn't  make 
so  much  difference  about  me.  You  know  you  told  me 
right  away  you  would  like  to  help  my  family,  and  I  felt 
that  maybe  that  would  be  the  right  thing  to  do.  We 
were  so  terribly  poor. 

"Lester,  dear,  I  am  ashamed  to  leave  you  this  way;  it 
seems  so  mean,  but  if  you  knew  how  I  have  been  feeling 
these  days  you  would  forgive  me.  Oh,  I  love  you,  Les- 
ter, I  do,  I  do.  But  for  months  past — ever  since  your 
sister  came — I  felt  that  I  was  doing  wrong,  and  that  I 
oughtn't  to  go  on  doing  it,  for  I  know  how  terribly  wrong 
it  is.  It  was  wrong  for  me  ever  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  Senator  Brander,  but  I  was  such  a  girl  then — I 
hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing.  It  was  wrong  of  me  not 
to  tell  you  about  Vesta  when  I  first  met  you,  though  I 
thought  I  was  doing  right  when  I  did  it.  It  was  terribly 
wrong  of  me  to  keep  her  here  all  that  time  concealed, 
Lester,  but  I  was  afraid  of  you  then — afraid  of  what  you 
would  say  and  do.  When  your  sister  Louise  came  it  all 
came  over  me  somehow,  clearly,  and  I  have  never  been 

248 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

able  to  think  right  about  it  since.     It  can't  be  right,  Les- 
ter, but  I  don't  blame  you.     I  blame  myself. 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  marry  me,  Lester.  I  know  how 
you  feel  about  me  and  how  you  feel  about  your  family, 
and  I  don't  think  it  would  be  right.  They  would  never 
want  you  to  do  it,  and  it  isn't  right  that  I  should  ask 
you.  At  the  same  time  I  know  I  oughtn't  to  go  on  living 
this  way.  Vesta  is  getting  along  where  she  understands 
everything.  She  thinks  you  are  her  really  truly  uncle. 
I  have  thought  of  it  all  so  much.  I  have  thought  a  num- 
ber of  times  that  I  would  try  to  talk  to  you  about  it,  but 
you  frighten  me  when  you  get  serious,  and  I  don't  seem 
to  be  able  to  say  what  I  want  to.  So  I  thought  if  I  could 
just  write  you  this  and  then  go  you  would  understand. 
You  do,  Lester,  don't  you?  You  won't  be  angry  with 
me?  I  know  it's  for  the  best  for  you  and  for  me.  I 
ought  to  do  it.  Please  forgive  me,  Lester,  please;  and 
don't  think  of  me  any  more.  I  will  get  along.  But  I 
love  you — oh  yes,  I  do — and  I  will  never  be  grateful 
enough  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  I  wish  you  all  the 
luck  that  can  come  to  you.  Please  forgive  me,  Lester. 
I  love  you,  yes,  I  do.  I  love  you. 

"JENNIE. 

"P.  S.  I  expect  to  go  to  Cleveland  with  papa.  He 
needs  me.  He  is  all  alone.  But  don't  come  for  me,  Les- 
ter. It's  best  that  you  shouldn't." 

She  put  this  in  an  envelope,  sealed  it,  and,  having 
hidden  it  in  her  bosom,  for  the  time  being,  awaited  the 
hour  when  she  could  conveniently  take  her  departure. 

It  was  several  days  before  she  could  bring  herself  to 
the  actual  execution  of  the  plan,  but  one  afternoon,  Les- 
ter, having  telephoned  that  he  would  not  be  home  for  a 
day  or  two,  she  packed  some  necessary  garments  for 
herself  and  Vesta  in  several  trunks,  and  sent  for  an 
expressman.  She  thought  of  telegraphing  her  father 

249 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

that  she  was  coming;  but,  seeing  he  had  no  home,  she 
thought  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  go  and  find  him. 
George  and  Veronica  had  not  taken  all  the  furniture. 
The  major  portion  of  it  was  in  storage  —  so  Gerhard t 
had  written.  She  might  take  that  and  furnish  a  little 
home  or  flat.  She  was  ready  for  the  end,  waiting  for 
the  expressman,  when  the  door  opened  and  in  walked 
Lester. 

For  some  unforeseen  reason  he  had  changed  his  mind. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  psychic  or  intuitional,  but  on  this 
occasion  his  feelings  had  served  him  a  peculiar  turn. 
He  had  thought  of  going  for  a  day's  duck-shooting  with 
some  friends  in  the  Kankakee  Marshes  south  of  Chicago, 
but  had  finally  changed  his  mind ;  he  even  decided  to  go 
out  to  the  house  early.  What  prompted  this  he  could 
not  have  said. 

As  he  neared  the  house  he  felt  a  little  peculiar  about 
coming  home  so  early;  then  at  the  sight  of  the  two 
trunks  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  he  stood 
dumfounded.  What  did  it  mean  —  Jennie  dressed  and 
ready  to  depart  ?  And  Vesta  in  a  similar  condition  ?  He 
stared  in  amazement,  his  brown  eyes  keen  in  inquiry. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"Why — why — "  she  began,  falling  back.  "I  was 
going  away." 

"Where  to?" 

"I  thought  I  would  go  to  Cleveland,"  she  replied. 

"What  for?" 

"Why — why — I  meant  to  tell  you,  Lester,  that  I 
didn't  think  I  ought  to  stay  here  any  longer  this  way. 
I  didn't  think  it  was  right.  I  thought  I'd  tell  you,  but  I 
couldn't.  I  wrote  you  a  letter.  " 

"A  letter,"  he  exclaimed.  "What  the  deuce  are  you 
talking  about  ?  Where  is  the  letter  ?" 

"There,"  she  said,  mechanically  pointing  to  a  small 
center-table  where  the  letter  lay  conspicuous  on  a  large 
book. 

250 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"And  you  were  really  going  to  leave  me,  Jennie,  with 
just  a  letter?"  said  Lester,  his  voice  hardening  a  little  as 
he  spoke.  "I  swear  to  heaven  you  are  beyond  me. 
What's  the  point?"  He  tore  open  the  envelope  and 
looked  at  the  beginning.  "Better  send  Vesta  from  the 
room,"  he  suggested. 

She  obeyed.  Then  she  came  back  and  stood  there 
pale  and  wide-eyed,  looking  at  the  wall,  at  the  trunks, 
and  at  him.  Lester  read  the  letter  thoughtfully.  He 
shifted  his  position  once  or  twice,  then  dropped  the 
paper  on  the  floor. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Jennie,"  he  said  finally,  looking 
at  her  curiously  and  wondering  just  what  he  was  going 
to  say.  Here  again  was  his  chance  to  end  this  relation- 
ship if  he  wished.  He  couldn't  feel  that  he  did  wish  it, 
seeing  how  peacefully  things  were  running.  They  had 
gone  so  far  together  it  seemed  ridiculous  to  quit  now. 
He  truly  loved  her — there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  Still 
he  did  not  want  to  marry  her — could  not  very  well.  She 
knew  that.  Her  letter  said  as  much.  "You  have  this 
thing  wrong,"  he  went  on  slowly.  "I  don't  know  what 
comes  over  you  at  times,  but  you  don't  view  the  situa- 
tion right.  I've  told  you  before  that  I  can't  marry  you 
— not  now,  anyhow.  There  are  too  many  big  things 
involved  in  this,  which  you  don't  know  anything  about. 
I  love  you,  you  know  that.  But  my  family  has  to  be 
taken  into  consideration,  and  the  business.  You  can't 
see  the  difficulties  raised  on  these  scores,  but  I  can. 
Now  I  don't  want  you  to  leave  me.  I  care  too  much 
about  you.  I  can't  prevent  you,  of  course.  You  can  go 
if  you  want  to.  But  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  want  to. 
You  don't  really,  do  you?  Sit  down  a  minute." 

Jennie,  who  had  been  counting  on  getting  away  with- 
out being  seen,  was  now  thoroughly  nonplussed.  To 
have  him  begin  a  quiet  argument — a  plea  as  it  were.  It 
hurt  her.  He,  Lester,  pleading  with  her,  and  she  loved 
him  so. 

251 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

She  went  over  to  him,  and  he  took  her  hand. 

"Now,  listen,"  he  said.  "There's  really  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  your  leaving  me  at  present.  Where  did  you 
say  you  were  going?" 

"To  Cleveland,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  how  did  you  expect  to  get  along?" 

"I  thought  I'd  take  papa,  if  he'd  come  with  me — he's 
alone  now — and  get  something  to  do,  maybe." 

"Well,  what  can  you  do,  Jennie,  different  from  what 
you  ever  have  done?  You  wouldn't  expect  to  be  a 
lady's  maid  again,  would  you  ?  Or  clerk  in  a  store  ?" 

"I  thought  I  might  get  some  place  as  a  housekeeper," 
she  suggested.  She  had  been  counting  up  her  possi- 
bilities, and  this  was  the  most  promising  idea  that  had 
occurred  to  her. 

"No,  no,"  he  grumbled,  shaking  his  head.  "There's 
nothing  to  that.  There's  nothing  in  this  whole  move  of 
yours  except  a  notion.  Why,  you  won't  be  any  better 
off  morally  than  you  are  right  now.  You  can't  undo  the 
past.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference,  anyhow.  I  can't 
marry  you  now.  I  might  in  the  future,  but  I  can't  tell 
anything  about  that,  and  I  don't  want  to  promise  any- 
thing. You're  not  going  to  leave  me  though  with  my 
consent,  and  if  you  were  going  I  wouldn't  have  you 
dropping  back  into  any  such  thing  as  you're  contem- 
plating. I'll  make  some  provision  for  you.  You  don't 
really  want  to  leave  me,  do  you,  Jennie?" 

Against  Lester's  strong  personality  and  vigorous  pro- 
test Jennie's  own  conclusions  and  decisions  went  to 
pieces.  Just  the  pressure  of  his  hand  was  enough  to  up- 
set her.  Now  she  began  to  cry. 

"Don't  cry,  Jennie,"  he  said.  "This  thing  may  work 
out  better  than  you  think.  Let  it  rest  for  a  while.  Take 
off  your  things.  You're  not  going  to  leave  me  any  more, 
are  you?" 

"No-o-o!"  she  sobbed. 

He  took  her  in  his  lap.  "Let  things  rest  as  they 

252 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

are,"  he  went  on.  "It's  a  curious  world.  Things  can't 
be  adjusted  in  a  minute.  They  may  work  out.  I'm 
putting  up  with  some  things  myself  that  I  ordinarily 
wouldn't  stand  for." 

He  finally  saw  her  restored  to  comparative  calmness, 
smiling  sadly  through  her  tears. 

"Now  you  put  those  things  away,"  he  said  genially, 
pointing  to  the  trunks.  "  Besides,  I  want  you  to  promise 
me  one  thing." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Jennie. 

"  No  more  concealment  of  anything,  do  you  hear  ?  No 
more  thinking  things  out  for  yourself,  and  acting  with- 
out my  knowing  anything  about  it.  If  you  have  any- 
thing on  your  mind,  I  want  you  to  come  out  with  it. 
I'm  not  going  to  eat  you!  Talk  to  me  about  whatever 
is  troubling  you.  I'll  help  you  solve  it,  or,  if  I  can't,  at 
least  fchere  won't  be  any  concealment  between  us." 

"I  know,  Lester,"  she  said  earnestly,  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eyes.  "I  promise  I'll  never  conceal  any- 
thing any  more — truly  I  won't.  I've  been  afraid,  but  I 
won't  be  now.  You  can  trust  me." 

"That  sounds  like  what  you  ought  to  be,"  he  replied. 
"I  know  you  will."  And  he  let  her  go. 

A  few  days  later,  and  in  consequence  of  this  agreement, 
the  future  of  Gerhardt  came  up  for  discussion.  Jennie 
had  been  worrying  about  him  for  several  days;  now  it 
occurred  to  her  that  this  was  something  to  talk  over 
with  Lester.  Accordingly,  she  explained  one  night  at 
dinner  what  had  happened  in  Cleveland.  "  I  know  he  is 
very  unhappy  there  all  alone,"  she  said,  "and  I  hate  to 
think  of  it.  I  was  going  to  get  him  if  I  went  back  to 
Cleveland.  Now  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it." 

"Why  don't  you  send  him  some  money?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"He  won't  take  any  more  money  from  me,  Lester," 
she  explained.  "He  thinks  I'm  not  good — not  acting 
right.  He  doesn't  believe  I'm  married." 

253 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

"He  has  pretty  good  reason,  hasn't  he?"  said  Lester 
calmly. 

"I  hate  to  think  of  him  sleeping  in  a  factory.  He's 
so  old  and  lonely." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  rest  of  the  family  in 
Cleveland  ?  Won't  they  do  anything  for  him  ?  Where's 
your  brother  Bass?" 

"I  think  maybe  they  don't  want  him,  he's  so  cross," 
she  said  simply. 

11 1  hardly  know  what  to  suggest  in  that  case,"  smiled 
Lester.  "The  old  gentleman  oughtn't  to  be  so  fussy." 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  "but  he's  old  now,  and  he  has  had 
so  much  trouble." 

Lester  ruminated  for  a  while,  toying  with  his  fork. 
"I'll  tell  you  what  I've  been  thinking,  Jennie,"  he 
said  finally.  "There's  no  use  living  this  way  any 
longer,  if  we're  going  to  stick  it  out.  I've  been  thinking 
that  we  might  take  a  house  out  in  Hyde  Park.  It's 
something  of  a  run  from  the  office,  but  I'm  not  much 
for  this  apartment  life.  You  and  Vesta  would  be  better 
off  for  a  yard.  In  that  case  you  might  bring  your  father 
on  to  live  with  us.  He  couldn't  do  any  harm  pottering 
about;  indeed,  he  might  help  keep  things  straight." 

"Oh,  that  would  just  suit  papa,  if  he'd  come,"  she 
replied.  "He  loves  to  fix  things,  and  he'd  cut  the  grass 
and  look  after  the  furnace.  But  he  won't  come  unless 
he's  sure  I'm  married." 

"I  don't  know  how  that  could  be  arranged  unless  you 
could  show  the  old  gentleman  a  marriage  certificate. 
He  seems  to  want  something  that  can't  be  produced  very 
well.  A  steady  job  he'd  have  running  the  furnace  of  a 
country  house,"  he  added  meditatively. 

Jennie  did  not  notice  the  grimness  of  the  jest.  She 
was  too  busy  thinking  what  a  tangle  she  had  made  of  her 
life.  Gerhardt  would  not  come  now,  even  if  they  had  a 
lovely  home  to  share  with  him.  And  yet  he  ought  to  be 
with  Vesta  again.  She  would  make  him  happy. 

254 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

She  remained  lost  in  a  sad  abstraction,  until  Lester, 
following  the  drift  of  her  thoughts,  said:  "I  don't  see 
how  it  can  be  arranged.  Marriage  certificate  blanks 
aren't  easily  procurable.  It's  bad  business — a  criminal 
offense  to  forge  one,  I  believe.  I  wouldn't  want  to  be 
mixed  up  in  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  like  that,  Lester. 
I'm  just  sorry  papa  is  so  stubborn.  When  he  gets  a 
notion  you  can't  change  him." 

"Suppose  we  wait  until  we  get  settled  after  moving," 
he  suggested.  "Then  you  can  go  to  Cleveland  and  talk 
to  him  personally.  You  might  be  able  to  persuade  him." 
He  liked  her  attitude  toward  her  father.  It  was  so 
decent  that  he  rather  wished  he  could  help  her  carry  out 
her  scheme.  While  not  very  interesting,  Gerhardt  was 
not  objectionable  to  Lester,  and  if  the  old  man  wanted  to 
do  the  odd  jobs  around  a  big  place,  why  not  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

THE  plan  for  a  residence  in  Hyde  Park  was  not  long 
in  taking  shape.  After  several  weeks  had  passed, 
and  things  had  quieted  down  again,  Lester  invited  Jennie 
to  go  with  him  to  South  Hyde  Park  to  look  for  a  house. 
On  the  first  trip  they  found  something  which  seemed  to 
suit  admirably — an  old-time  home  of  eleven  large  rooms, 
set  in  a  lawn  fully  two  hundred  feet  square  and  shaded  by 
trees  which  had  been  planted  when  the  city  was  young. 
It  was  ornate,  homelike,  peaceful.  Jennie  was  fascinated 
by  the  sense  of  space  and  country,  although  depressed 
by  the  reflection  that  she  was  not  entering  her  new  home 
under  the  right  auspices.  She  had  vaguely  hoped  that 
in  planning  to  go  away  she  was  bringing  about  a  condi- 
tion under  which  Lester  might  have  come  after  her  and 
married  her.  Now  all  that  was  over.  She  had  promised 
to  stay,  and  she  would  have  to  make  the  best  of  it.  She 
suggested  that  they  would  never  know  what  to  do  with 
so  much  room,  but  he  waved  that  aside.  "We  will  very 
likely  have  people  in  now  and  then,"  he  said.  "We  can 
furnish  it  up  anyhow,  and  see  how  it  looks."  He  had  the 
agent  make  out  a  five-year  lease,  with  an  option  for  re- 
newal, and  set  at  once  the  forces  to  work  to  put  the  estab- 
lishment in  order. 

The  house  was  painted  and  decorated,  the  lawn  put  in 
order,  and  everything  done  to  give  the  place  a  trim  and 
satisfactory  appearance.  There  was  a  large,  comfortable 
library  and  sitting-room,  a  big  dining-room,  a  handsome 
reception-hall,  a  parlor,  a  large  kitchen,  serving-room,  and 
in  fact  all  the  ground-floor  essentials  of  a  comfortable 

256 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

home.  On  the  second  floor  were  bedrooms,  baths,  and 
the  maid's  room.  It  was  all  very  comfortable  and  har- 
monious, and  Jennie  took  an  immense  pride  and  pleasure 
in  getting  things  in  order. 

Immediately  after  moving  in,  Jennie,  with  Lester's  per- 
mission, wrote  to  her  father  asking  him  to  come  to  her. 
She  did  not  say  that  she  was  married,  but  left  it  to  be 
inferred.  She  descanted  on  the  beauty  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, the  size  of  the  yard,  and  the  manifold  conveniences 
of  the  establishment.  "It  is  so  very  nice,"  she  added, 
"you  would  like  it,  papa.  Vesta  is  here  and  goes  to 
school  every  day.  Won't  you  come  and  stay  with  us? 
It's  so  much  better  than  living  in  a  factory.  And  I 
would  like  to  have  you  so."  ^ 

Gerhardt  read  this  letter  with  a  solemn  countenance, 
Was  it  really  true  ?  Would  they  be  taking  a  larger  house 
if  they  were  not  permanently  united?  After  all  these 
years  and  all  this  lying  ?  Could  he  have  been  mistaken  ? 
Well,  it  was  high  time — but  should  he  go  ?  He  had  lived 
alone  this  long  time  now — should  he  go  to  Chicago  and 
live  with  Jennie  ?  Her  appeal  did  touch  him,  but  some- 
how he  decided  against  it.  That  would  be  too  generous 
an  acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that  there  had  been 
fault  on  his  side  as  well  as  on  hers. 

Jennie  was  disappointed  at  Gerhardt 's  refusal.  She 
talked  it  over  with  Lester,  and  decided  that  she  would  go 
on  to  Cleveland  and  see  him.  Accordingly,  she  made  the 
trip,  hunted  up  the  factory,  a  great  rumbling  furniture 
concern  in  one  of  the  poorest  sections  of  the  city,  and  in- 
quired at  the  office  for  her  father.  The  clerk  directed 
her  to  a  distant  warehouse,  and  Gerhardt  was  informed 
that  a  lady  wished  to  see  him.  He  crawled  out  of  his 
humble  cot  and  came  down,  curious  as  to  who  it  could 
be.  When  Jennie  saw  him  in  his  dusty,  baggy  clothes, 
his  hair  gray,  his  eye  brows  shaggy,  coming  out  of  the 
dark  door,  a  keen  sense  of  the  pathetic  moved  her  again. 
"Poor  papa!"  she  thought.  He  came  toward  her,  his 

257 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

inquisitorial  eye  softened  a  little  by  his  consciousness  ol 
the  affection  that  had  inspired  her  visit.  "What  are 
you  come  for?"  he  asked  cautiously. 

"I  want  you  to  come  home  with  me,  papa,"  she 
pleaded  yearningly.  "I  don't  want  you  to  stay  here 
any  more.  I  can't  think  of  you  living  alone  any  longer." 

"So,"  he  said,  nonplussed,  "that  brings  you?  ! 

"Yes,"  she  replied;  "Won't  you?     Don't  stay  here." 

"I  have  a  good  bed,"  he  explained  by  way  of  apology 
for  his  state. 

"I  know,"  she  replied,  "but  we  have  a  good  home 
now  and  Vesta  is  there.  Won't  you  come?  Lester 
wants  you  to." 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  he  demanded.  "Are  you  mar- 
ried?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  lying  hopelessly.  "I  have  been 
married  a  long  time.  You  can  ask  Lester  when  you 
come."  She  could  scarcely  look  him  in  the  face,  but  she 
managed  somehow,  and  he  believed  her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  is  time." 

"Won't  you  come,  papa?"  she  pleaded. 

He  threw  out  his  hands  after  his  characteristic  manner. 
The  urgency  of  her  appeal  touched  him  to  the  quick. 
"Yes,  I  come,"  he  said,  and  turned;  but  she  saw  by  his 
shoulders  what  was  happening.  He  was  crying. 

"Now,  papa?"  she  pleaded. 

For  answer  he  walked  back  into  the  dark  warehouse 
to  get  his  things. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

GERHARDT,  having  become  an  inmate  of  the  Hyde 
Park  home,  at  once  bestirred  himself  about  the 
labors  which  he  felt  instinctively  concerned  him.  He 
took  charge  of  the  furnace  and  the  yard,  outraged  at  the 
thought  that  good  money  should  be  paid  to  any  outsider 
when  he  had  nothing  to  do.  The  trees,  he  declared  to 
Jennie,  were  in  a  dreadful  condition.  If  Lester  would 
get  him  a  pruning  knife  and  a  saw  he  would  attend  to 
them  in  the  spring.  In  Germany  they  knew  how  to  care 
for  such  things,  but  these  Americans  were  so  shiftless. 
Then  he  wanted  tools  and  nails,  and  in  time  all  the 
closets  and  shelves  were  put  in  order.  He  found  a 
Lutheran  Church  almost  two  miles  away,  and  declared 
that  it  was  better  than  the  one  in  Cleveland.  The  pastor, 
of  course,  was  a  heaven-sent  son  of  divinity.  And  noth- 
ing would  do  but  that  Vesta  must  go  to  church  with 
him  regularly. 

Jennie  and  Lester  settled  down  into  the  new  order  of 
living  with  some  misgivings ;  certain  difficulties  were  sure 
to  arise.  On  the  North  Side  it  had  been  easy  for  Jennie 
to  shun  neighbors  and  say  nothing.  Now  they  were 
occupying  a  house  of  some  pretensions ;  their  immediate 
neighbors  would  feel  it  their  duty  to  call,  and  Jennie 
would  have  to  play  the  part  of  an  experienced  hostess. 
She  and  Lester  had  talked  this  situation  over.  It  might 
as  well  be  understood  here,  he  said,  that  they  were 
husband  and  wife.  Vesta  was  to  be  introduced  as 
Jennie's  daughter  by  her  first  marriage,  her  husband,  a 
Mr.  Stover  (her  mother's  maiden  name),  having  died 
18  259 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

immediately  after  the  child's  birth.  Lester,  of  course,  was 
the  stepfather.  This  particular  neighborhood  was  so  far 
from  the  fashionable  heart  of  Chicago  that  Lester  did  not 
expect  to  run  into  many  of  his  friends.  He  explained  to 
Jennie  the  ordinary  formalities  of  social  intercourse,  so 
that  when  the  first  visitor  called  Jennie  might  be  pre- 
pared to  receive  her.  Within  a  fortnight  this  first  visitor 
arrived  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Jacob  Stendahl,  a  woman  of 
considerable  importance  in  this  particular  section.  She 
lived  five  doors  from  Jennie — the  houses  of  the  neighbor- 
hood were  all  set  in  spacious  lawns — and  drove  up  in  her 
carriage,  on  her  return  from  her  shopping,  one  after- 
noon, 

"Is  Mrs.  Kane  in?"  she  asked  of  Jeannette,  the  new 
maid. 

"I  think  so,  mam,"  answered  the  girl.  "Won't  you 
let  me  have  your  card?" 

The  card  was  given  and  taken  to  Jennie,  who  looked 
at  it  curiously. 

When  Jennie  came  into  the  parlor  Mrs.  Stendahl,  a  tall 
dark,  inquisitive-looking  woman,  greeted  her  most 
cordially. 

"I  thought  I  would  take  the  liberty  of  intruding  on 
you,"  she  said  most  winningly.  "I  am  one  of  your 
neighbors.  I  live  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  some 
few  doors  up.  Perhaps  you  have  seen  the  house — the 
one  with  the  white  stone  gate-posts." 

"Oh,  yes  indeed,"  replied  Jennie.  "I  know  it  well. 
Mr.  Kane  and  I  were  admiring  it  the  first  day  we  came 
out  here." 

"I  know  of  your  husband,  of  course,  by  reputation. 
My  husband  is  connected  with  the  Wilkes  Frog  and 
Switch  Company." 

Jennie  bowed  her  head.  She  knew  that  the  latter 
concern  must  be  something  important  and  profitable 
from  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Stendahl  spoke  of  it. 

"We  have  lived  here  quite  a  number  of  years,  and  I 
260 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

know  how  you  must  feel  coming  as  a  total  stranger  to  a 
new  section  of  the  city.  I  hope  you  will  find  time  to 
come  in  and  see  me  some  afternoon.  I  shall  be  most 
pleased.  My  regular  reception  day  is  Thursday." 

"Indeed  I  shall,"  answered  Jennie,  a  little  nervously, 
for  the  ordeal  was  a  trying  one.  "I  appreciate  your 
goodness  in  calling.  Mr.  Kane  is  very  busy  as  a  rule,  but 
when  he  is  at  home  I  am  sure  he  would  be  most  pleased 
to  meet  you  and  your  husband." 

"You  must  both  come  over  some  evening,"  replied 
Mrs.  Stendahl.  "We  lead  a  very  quiet  life.  My  hus- 
band is  not  much  for  social  gatherings.  But  we  enjoy 
our  neighborhood  friends." 

Jennie  smiled  her  assurances  of  good- will.  She  ac- 
companied Mrs.  Stendahl  to  the  door,  and  shook  hands 
with  her.  "I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  so  charming,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Stendahl  frankly. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Jennie  flushing  a  little.  "I'm 
sure  I  don't  deserve  so  much  praise." 

"Well,  now  I  will  expect  you  some  afternoon.  Good- 
by,"  and  she  waved  a  gracious  farewell. 

"That  wasn't  so  bad,"  thought  Jennie  as  she  watched 
Mrs.  Stendahl  drive  away.  "She  is  very  nice,  I  think. 
I'll  tell  Lester  about  her." 

Among  the  other  callers  were  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Car- 
michael  Burke,  a  Mrs.  Hanson  Field,  and  a  Mrs.  Timothy 
Ballinger — all  of  whom  left  cards,  or  stayed  to  chat  a  few 
minutes.  Jennie  found  herself  taken  quite  seriously  as  a 
woman  of  importance,  and  she  did  her  best  to  support  the 
dignity  of  her  position.  And,  indeed,  she  did  excep- 
tionally well.  She  was  most  hospitable  and  gracious. 
She  had  a  kindly  smile  and  a  manner  wholly  natural ;  she 
succeeded  in  making  a  most  favorable  impression.  She 
explained  to  her  guests  that  she  had  been  living  on  the 
North  Side  until  recently,  that  her  husband,  Mr.  Kane, 
had  long  wanted  to  have  a  home  in  Hyde  Park,  that  her 
father  and  daughter  were  living  here,  and  that  Lester 

261 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

was  the  child's  stepfather.  She  said  she  hoped  to  repay 
all  these  nice  attentions  and  to  be  a  good  neighbor. 

Lester  heard  about  these  calls  in  the  evening,  for  he 
did  not  care  to  meet  these  people.  Jennie  came  to  enjoy 
it  in  a  mild  way.  She  liked  making  new  friends,  and  she 
was  hoping  that  something  definite  could  be  worked  out 
here  which  would  make  Lester  look  upon  her  as  a  good 
wife  and  an  ideal  companion.  Perhaps,  some  day,  he 
might  really  want  to  marry  her. 

First  impressions  are  not  always  permanent,  as  Jennie 
was  soon  to  discover.  The  neighborhood  had  accepted 
her  perhaps  a  little  too  hastily,  and  now  rumors  began 
to  fly  about.  A  Mrs.  Sommerville,  calling  on  Mrs.  Craig, 
one  of  Jennie's  near  neighbors,  intimated  that  she  knew 
who  Lester  was — "oh,  yes,  indeed.  You  know,  my 
dear,"  she  went  on,  "his  reputation  is  just  a  little — " 
she  raised  her  eyebrows  and  her  hand  at  the  same  time. 

"You  don't  say!"  commented  her  friend  curiously. 
"He  looks  like  such  a  staid,  conservative  person." 

"Oh,  no  doubt,  in  a  way,  he  is,"  went  on  Mrs.  Sommer- 
ville. "  His  family  is  of  the  very  best.  There  was  some 
young  woman  he  went  with — so  my  husband  tells  me. 
I  don't  know  whether  this  is  the  one  or  not,  but  she  was 
introduced  as  a  Miss  Gorwood,  or  some  such  name  as 
that,  when  they  were  living  together  as  husband  and  wife 
on  the  North  Side." 

"  Tst !  Tst !  Tst !"  clicked  Mrs.  Craig  with  her  tongue  at 
this  astonishing  news.  "You  don't  tell  me!  Come  to 
think  of  it,  it  must  be  the  same  woman.  Her  father's 
name  is  Gerhardt." 

"Gerhardt!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sommerville.  "Yes, 
that's  the  name.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  was  some 
earlier  scandal  in  connection  with  her — at  least  there  was 
a  child.  Whether  he  married  her  afterward  or  not,  I 
don't  know.  Anyhow,  I  understand  his  family  will  not 
have  anything  to  do  with  her." 

" How  very  interesting!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Craig.  "And 

262 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

to  think  he  should  have  married  her  afterward,  if  he 
really  did.  I'm  sure  you  can't  tell  with  whom  you're 
coming  in  contact  these  days,  can  you?" 

"It's  so  true.  Life  does  get  badly  mixed  at  times. 
She  appears  to  be  a  charming  woman." 

"Delightful!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Craig.  "Quite  naive. 
I  was  really  taken  with  her." 

"Well,  it  may  be,"  went  on  her  guest,  "that  this  isn't 
the  same  woman  after  all.  I  may  be  mistaken." 

"Oh,  I  hardly  think  so.  Gerhardt!  She  told  me 
they  had  been  living  on  the  North  Side." 

"Then  I'm  sure  it's  the  same  person.  How  curious 
that  you  should  speak  of  her!" 

"It  is,  indeed,"  went  on  Mrs.  Craig,  who  was  specu- 
lating as  to  what  her  attitude  toward  Jennie  should  be 
in  the  future. 

Other  rumors  came  from  other  sources.  There  were 
people  who  had  seen  Jennie  and  Lester  out  driving  on  the 
North  Side,  who  had  been  introduced  to  her  as  Miss 
Gerhardt,  who  knew  what  the  Kane  family  thought. 
Of  course  her  present  position,  the  handsome  house,  the 
wealth  of  Lester,  the  beauty  of  Vesta — all  these  things 
helped  to  soften  the  situation.  She  was  apparently  too 
circumspect,  too  much  the  good  wife  and  mother,  too 
really  nice  to  be  angry  with ;  but  she  had  a  past,  and  that 
had  to  be  taken  into  consideration. 

An  opening  bolt  of  the  coming  storm  fell  upon  Jennie 
one  day  when  Vesta,  returning  from  school,  suddenly 
asked:  "Mamma,  who  was  my  papa?" 

"His  name  was  Stover,  dear,"  replied  her  mother, 
struck  at  once  by  the  thought  that  there  might  have 
been  some  criticism — that  some  one  must  have  been 
saying  something.  "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Where  was  I  born?"  continued  Vesta,  ignoring  the 
last  inquiry,  and  interested  in  clearing  up  her  own  iden- 
tity. 

"In  Columbus,  Ohio,  pet.     Why?" 

263 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Anita  Ballinger  said  I  didn't  have  any  papa,  and 
that  you  weren't  ever  married  when  you  had  me.  She 
said  I  wasn't  a  really,  truly  girl  at  all — just  a  nobody. 
She  made  me  so  mad  I  slapped  her." 

Jennie's  face  grew  rigid.  She  sat  staring  straight 
before  her.  Mrs.  Ballinger  had  called,  and  Jennie  had 
thought  her  peculiarly  gracious  and  helpful  in  her  offer 
of  assistance,  and  now  her  little  daughter  had  said  this  to 
Vesta.  Where  did  the  child  hear  it? 

"You  mustn't  pay  any  attention  to  her,  dearie,"  said 
Jennie  at  last.  "She  doesn't  know.  Your  papa  was 
Mr.  Stover,  and  you  were  born  in  Columbus.  You 
mustn't  fight  other  little  girls.  Of  course  they  say 
nasty  things  when  they  fight — sometimes  things  they 
don't  really  mean.  Just  let  her  alone  and  don't  go  near 
her  any  more.  Then  she  won't  say  anything  to  you." 

It  was  a  lame  explanation,  but  it  satisfied  Vesta  for  the 
time  being.  "I'll  slap  her  if  she  tries  to  slap  me,"  she 
persisted. 

"You  mustn't  go  near  her,  pet,  do  you  hear?  Then 
she  can't  try  to  slap  you,"  returned  her  mother.  "Just 
go  about  your  studies,  and  don't  mind  her.  She  can't 
quarrel  with  you  if  you  don't  let  her." 

Vesta  went  away  leaving  Jennie  brooding  over  her 
words.  The  neighbors  were  talking.  Her  history  was 
becoming  common  gossip.  How  had  they  found  out. 

It  is  one  thing  to  nurse  a  single  thrust,  another  to  have 
the  wound  opened  from  time  to  time  by  additional 
stabs.  One  day  Jennie,  having  gone  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Hanson  Field,  who  was  her  immediate  neighbor,  met  a 
Mrs.  Williston  Baker,  who  was  there  taking  tea.  Mrs. 
Baker  knew  of  the  Kanes,  of  Jennie's  history  on  the 
North  vSide,  and  of  the  attitude  of  the  Kane  family.  She 
was  a  thin,  vigorous,  intellectual  woman,  somewhat  on 
the  order  of  Mrs.  Bracebridge,  and  very  careful  of  her 
social  connections.  She  had  always  considered  Mrs. 
Field  a  woman  of  the  same  rigid  circumspectness  of  atti- 

264 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

tude,  and  when  she  found  Jennie  calling  there  she  was 
outwardly  calm  but  inwardly  irritated.  "This  is  Mrs. 
Kane,  Mrs.  Baker,"  said  Mrs.  Field,  introducing  her 
guests  with  a  smiling  countenance.  Mrs.  Baker  looked 
at  Jennie  ominously. 

"Mrs.  Lester  Kane?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Fields. 

"Indeed,"  she  went  on  freezingly.  "I've  heard  a 
great  deal  about  Mrs. — "  accenting  the  word — "Mrs. 
Lester  Kane." 

She  turned  to  Mrs.  Field,  ignoring  Jennie  completely, 
and  started  an  intimate  conversation  in  which  Jennie 
could  have  no  possible  share.  Jennie  stood  helplessly 
by,  unable  to  formulate  a  thought  which  would  be  suit- 
able to  so  trying  a  situation.  Mrs.  Baker  soon  an- 
nounced her  departure,  although  she  had  intended  to 
stay  longer.  "  I  can't  remain  another  minute,"  she  said; 
"I  promised  Mrs.  Neil  that  I  would  stop  in  to  see  her  to- 
day. I'm  sure  I've  bored  you  enough  already  as  it  is." 

She  walked  to  the  door,  not  troubling  to  look  at  Jennie 
until  she  was  nearly  out  of  the  room.  Then  she  looked 
in  her  direction,  and  gave  her  a  frigid  nod. 

"We  meet  such  curious  people  now  and  again,"  she 
observed  finally  to  her  hostess  as  she  swept  away. 

Mrs.  Field  did  not  feel  able  to  defend  Jennie,  for  she 
herself  was  in  no  notable  social  position,  and  was  en- 
deavoring, like  every  other  middle-class  woman  of  means, 
to  get  along.  She  did  not  care  to  offend  Mrs.  Williston 
Baker,  who  was  socially  so  much  more  important  than 
Jennie.  She  came  back  to  where  Jennie  was  sitting, 
smiling  apologetically,  but  she  was  a  little  bit  flustered. 
Jennie  was  out  of  countenance,  of  course.  Presently  she 
excused  herself  and  went  home.  She  had  been  cut  deeply 
by  the  slight  offered  her,  and  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Field 
realized  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  in  ever  taking  her 
up.  There  would  be  no  additional  exchange  of  visits 
there — that  she  knew.  The  old  hopeless  feeling  came 

265 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

over  her  that  her  life  was  a  failure.  It  couldn't  be  made 
right,  or,  if  it  could,  it  wouldn't  be.  Lester  was  not  in- 
clined to  marry  her  and  put  her  right. 

Time  went  on  and  matters  remained  very  much  as  they 
were.  To  look  at  this  large  house,  with  its  smooth  lawn 
and  well  grown  trees,  its  vines  clambering  about  the 
pillars  of  the  veranda  and  interlacing  themselves  into  a 
tranpsarent  veil  of  green;  to  see  Gerhardt  pottering 
about  the  yard,  Vesta  coming  home  from  school,  Lester 
leaving  in  the  morning  in  his  smart  trap — one  would  have 
said  that  here  is  peace  and  plenty,  no  shadow  of  unhappi- 
ness  hangs  over  this  charming  home. 

And  as  a  matter  of  fact  existence  with  Lester  and 
Jennie  did  run  smoothly.  Tt  is  true  that  the  neighbors 
did  not  call  any  more,  or  only  a  very  few  of  them,  and 
there  was  no  social  life  to  speak  of ;  but  the  deprivation 
was  hardly  noticed;  there  was  so  much  in  the  home  life 
to  please  and  interest.  Vesta  was  learning  to  play  the 
piano,  and  to  play  quite  well.  She  had  a  good  ear  for 
music.  Jennie  was  a  charming  figure  in  blue,  lavender, 
and  olive-green  house-gowns  as  she  went  about  her 
affairs,  sewing,  dusting,  getting  Vesta  off  to  school,  and 
seeing  that  things  generally  were  put  to  rights.  Ger- 
hardt busied  himself  about  his  multitudinous  duties,  for 
he  was  not  satisfied  unless  he  had  his  hands  into  all  the 
domestic  economies  of  the  household.  One  of  his  self- 
imposed  tasks  was  to  go  about  the  house  after  Lester,  or 
the  servants,  turning  out  the  gas-jets  or  electric-light 
bulbs  which  might  accidentally  have  been  left  burning. 
That  was  a  sinful  extravagance. 

Again,  Lester's  expensive  clothes,  which  he  carelessly 
threw  aside  after  a  few  month's  use,  were  a  source  of  woe 
to  the  thrifty  old  German.  Moreover,  he  grieved  over 
splendid  shoes  discarded  because  of  a  few  wrinkles  in  the 
leather  or  a  slightly  run  down  heel  or  sole.  Gerhardt 
was  for  having  them  repaired,  but  Lester  answered  the 
old  man's  querulous  inquiry  as  to  what  was  wrong  "with 

266 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

them  shoes"  by  saying  that  they  weren't  comfortable 
any  more. 

"Such  extravagance!"  Gerhardt  complained  to  Jennie. 
"  Such  waste!  No  good  can  come  of  anything  like  that, 
It  will  mean  want  one  of  these  days." 

"He  can't  help  it,  papa,"  Jennie  excused.  "That's 
the  way  he  was  raised." 

"Ha!  A  fine  way  to  be  raised.  These  Americans, 
they  know  nothing  of  economy.  They  ought  to  live  in 
Germany  awhile.  Then  they  would  know  what  a  dollar 
can  do." 

Lester  heard  something  of  this  through  Jennie,  but  he 
only  smiled.  Gerhardt  was  amusing  to  him. 

Another  grievance  was  Lester's  extravagant  use  of 
matches.  He  had  the  habit  of  striking  a  match,  holding 
it  while  he  talked,  instead  of  lighting  his  cigar,  and  then 
throwing  it  away.  Sometimes  he  would  begin  to  light  a 
cigar  two  or  three  minutes  before  he  would  actually  do 
so,  tossing  aside  match  after  match.  There  was  a  place 
out  in  one  corner  of  the  veranda  where  he  liked  to  sit  of  a 
spring  or  summer  evening,  smoking  and  throwing  away 
half -burned  matches.  Jennie  would  sit  with  him,  and  a 
vast  number  of  matches  would  be  lit  and  flung  out  on 
the  lawn.  At  one  time,  while  engaged  in  cutting  the 
grass,  Gerhardt  found,  to  his  horror,  not  a  handful,  but 
literally  boxes  of  half -burned  match-sticks  lying  uncon- 
sumed  and  decaying  under  the  fallen  blades.  He  was 
discouraged,  to  say  the  least.  He  gathered  up  this 
damning  evidence  in  a  newspaper  and  carried  it  back 
into  the  sitting-room  where  Jennie  was  sewing. 

"See  here,  what  I  find!"  he  demanded.  "Just  look 
at  that!  That  man,  he  has  no  more  sense  of  economy 
than  a — than  a — "  the  right  term  failed  him.  "He  sits 
and  smokes,  and  this  is  the  way  he  uses  matches.  Five 
cents  a  box  they  cost — five  cents.  How  can  a  man  hope 
to  do  well  and  carry  on  like  that,  I  like  to  know.  Look 
at  them." 

267 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

Jennie  looked.  She  shook  her  head.  "Lester  is 
extravagant,"  she  said. 

Gerhardt  carried  them  to  the  basement.  At  least  they 
should  be  burned  in  the  furnace.  He  would  have  used 
them  as  lighters  for  his  own  pipe,  sticking  them  in  the 
fire  to  catch  a  blaze,  only  old  newspapers  were  better, 
and  he  had  stacks  of  these — another  evidence  of  his  lord 
and  master's  wretched,  spendthrift  disposition.  It  was 
a  sad  world  to  work  in.  Almost  everything  was  against 
him.  Still  he  fought  as  valiantly  as  he  could  against 
waste  and  shameless  extravagance.  His  own  economies 
were  rigid.  He  would  wear  the  same  suit  of  black — cut 
down  from  one  of  Lester's  expensive  investments  of 
years  before — every  Sunday  for  a  couple  of  years.  Les- 
ter's shoes,  by  a  little  stretch  of  the  imagination,  could  be 
made  to  seem  to  fit,  and  these  he  wore.  His  old  ties 
also — the  black  ones — they  were  fine.  If  he  could  have 
cut  down  Lester's  shirts  he  would  have  done  so;  he 
did  make  over  the  underwear,  with  the  friendly  aid  of 
the  cook's  needle.  Lester's  socks,  of  course,  were  just 
right.  There  was  never  any  expense  for  Gerhardt 's 
clothing. 

The  remaining  stock  of  Lester's  discarded  clothing — 
shoes,  shirts,  collars,  suits,  ties,  and  what  not — he  would 
store  away  for  weeks  and  months,  and  then,  in  a  sad  and 
gloomy  frame  of  mind,  he  would  call  in  a  tailor,  or  an  old- 
shoe  man,  or  a  ragman,  and  dispose  of  the  lot  at  the  best 
price  he  could.  He  learned  that  all  second-hand  clothes 
men  were  sharks;  that  there  was  no  use  in  putting  the 
least  faith  in  the  protests  of  any  rag  dealer  or  old-shoe 
man.  They  all  lied.  They  all  claimed  to  be  very  poor, 
when  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  were  actually  rolling  in 
wealth.  Gerhardt  had  investigated  these  stories;  he  had 
followed  them  up;  he  had  seen  what  they  were  doing 
with  the  things  he  sold  them. 

"Scoundrels!"  he  declared.  "They  offer  me  ten  cents 
for  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  then  I  see  them  hanging  out  in 

268 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

front  of  their  places  marked  two  dollars.  Such  robbery! 
My  God!  They  could  afford  to  give  me  a  dollar." 

Jennie  smiled.  It  was  only  to  her  that  he  complained, 
for  he  could  expect  no  sympathy  from'  Lester.  So  far  as 
his  own  meager  store  of  money  was  concerned,  he  gave 
the  most  of  it  to  his  beloved  church,  where  he  was  con- 
sidered to  be  a  model  of  propriety,  honesty,  faith — in 
fact,  the  embodiment  of  all  the  virtues. 

And  so,  for  all  the  ill  winds  that  were  beginning  to 
blow  socially,  Jennie  was  now  leading  the  dream  years  of 
her  existence.  Lester,  in  spite  of  the  doubts  which 
assailed  him  at  times  as  to  the  wisdom  of  his  career,  was 
invariably  kind  and  considerate,  and  he  seemed  to  enjoy 
his  home  life. 

"Everything  all  right?"  she  would  ask  when  he  came 
in  of  an  evening. 

"  Sure!"  he  would  answer,  and  pinch  her  chin  or  cheek. 

She  would  follow  him  in  while  Jeannette,  always  alert, 
would  take  his  coat  and  hat.  In  the  winter-time  they 
would  sit  in  the  library  before  the  big  grate -fire.  In  the 
spring,  summer,  or  fall  Lester  preferred  to  walk  out  on 
the  porch,  one  corner  of  which  commanded  a  sweeping 
view  of  the  lawn  and  the  distant  street,  and  light  his 
before-dinner  cigar.  Jennie  would  sit  on  the  side  of  his 
chair  and  stroke  his  head.  "Your  hair  is  not  getting 
the  least  bit  thin,  Lester;  aren't  you  glad?"  she  would 
say ;  or,  "  Oh,  see  how  your  brow  is  wrinkled  now.  You 
mustn't  do  that.  You  didn't  change  your  tie,  mister, 
this  morning.  Why  didn't  you  ?  I  laid  one  out  for  you. " 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  he  would  answer,  or  he  would  cause 
the  wrinkles  to  disappear,  or  laughingly  predict  that  he 
would  soon  be  getting  bald  if  he  wasn't  so  now. 

In  the  drawing-room  or  library,  before  Vesta  and 
Gerhardt,  she  was  not  less  loving,  though  a  little  more 
circumspect.  She  loved  odd  puzzles  like  pigs  in  clover, 
the  spider's  hole,  baby  billiards,  and  the  like.  Lester 
shared  in  these  simple  amusements.  He  would  work  by 

269 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

the  hour,  if  necessary,  to  make  a  difficult  puzzle  come 
right.  Jennie  was  clever  at  solving  these  mechanical 
problems.  Sometimes  she  would  have  to  show  him  the 
right  method,  and  then  she  would  be  immensely  pleased 
with  herself.  At  other  times  she  would  stand  behind 
him  watching,  her  chin  on  his  shoulder,  her  arms  about 
his  neck.  He  seemed  not  to  mind — indeed,  he  was 
happy  in  the  wealth  of  affection  she  bestowed.  Her 
cleverness,  her  gentleness,  her  tact  created  an  atmosphere 
which  was  immensely  pleasing ;  above  all  her  youth  and 
beauty  appealed  to  him.  It  made  him  feel  young,  and  if 
there  was  one  thing  Lester  objected  to,  it  was  the  thought 
of  drying  up  into  an  aimless  old  age.  "I  want  to  keep 
young,  or  die  young,"  was  one  of  his  pet  remarks;  and 
Jennie  came  to  understand.  She  was  glad  that  she  was 
so  much  younger  now  for  his  sake. 

Another  pleasant  feature  of  the  home  life  was  Lester's 
steadily  increasing  affection  for  Vesta.  The  child  would 
sit  at  the  big  table  in  the  library  in  the  evening  conning 
her  books,  v/hile  Jennie  would  sew,  and  Gerhardt  would 
read  his  interminable  list  of  German  Lutheran  papers. 
It  grieved  the  old  man  that  Vesta  should  not  be  allowed 
to  go  to  a  German  Lutheran  parochial  school,  but  Lester 
would  listen  to  nothing  of  the  sort.  "We'll  not  have 
any  thick-headed  German  training  in  this,"  he  said  to 
Jennie,  when  she  suggested  that  Gerhardt  had  com- 
plained. "The  public  schools  are  good  enough  for  any 
child.  You  tell  him  to  let  her  alone." 

There  were  really  some  delightful  hours  among  the 
four.  Lester  liked  to  take  the  little  seven-year-old 
school-girl  between  his  knees  and  tease  her.  He  liked 
to  invert  the  so-called  facts  of  life,  to  propound  its  para- 
doxes, and  watch  how  the  child's  budding  mind  took 
them.  "What's  water?"  he  would  ask;  and  being  in- 
formed that  it  was  "what  we  drink, "  he  would  stare  and 
say,  "That's  so,  but  what  is  it?  Don't  they  teach  you 
any  better  than  that?" 

270 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Well,  it  is  what  we  drink,  isn't  it?"  persisted  Vesta. 

"The  fact  that  we  drink  it  doesn't  explain  what  it  is,  " 
he  would  retort.  "  You  ask  your  teacher  what  water  is" ; 
and  then  he  would  leave  her  with  this  irritating  problem 
troubling  her  young  soul. 

Food,  china,  her  dress,  anything  was  apt  to  be  brought 
back  to  its  chemical  constituents,  and  he  would  leave  her 
to  struggle  with  these  dark  suggestions  of  something 
else  back  of  the  superficial  appearance  of  things  until  she 
was  actually  in  awe  of  him.  She  had  a  way  of  showing 
him  how  nice  she  looked  before  she  started  to  school  in 
the  morning,  a  habit  that  arose  because  of  his  constant 
criticism  of  her  appearance.  He  wanted  her  to  look 
smart,  he  insisted  on  a  big  bow  of  blue  ribbon  for  her 
hair,  he  demanded  that  her  shoes  be  changed  from  low 
quarter  to  high  boots  with  the  changing  character  of  the 
seasons'  and  that  her  clothing  be  carried  out  on  a  color 
scheme  suited  to  her  complexion  and  disposition. 

"That  child's  light  and  gay  by  disposition.  Don't 
put  anything  somber  on  her,"  he  once  remarked. 

Jennie  had  come  to  realize  that  he  must  be  consulted 
in  this,  and  would  say,  "  Run  to  your  papa  and  show  him 
how  you  look." 

Vesta  would  come  and  turn  briskly  around  before  him, 
saying,  "See." 

"  Yes.    You're  all  right.    Go  on  " ;  and  on  she  would  go. 

He  grew  so  proud  of  her  that  on  Sundays  and  some 
week-days  when  they  drove  he  would  always  have  her  in 
between  them.  He  insisted  that  Jennie  send  her  to 
dancing-school,  and  Gerhardt  was  beside  himself  with 
rage  and  grief.  "Such  irreligion!"  he  complained  to 
Jennie.  "  Such  devil's  fol-de-rol.  Now  she  goes  to  dance. 
What  for?  To  make  a  no-good  out  of  her — a  creature 
to  be  ashamed  of?" 

"Oh  no,  papa,"  replied  Jennie.  "It  isn't  as  bad  as 
that.  This  is  an  awful  nice  school.  Lester  says  she  has 
to  go." 

271 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"  Lester,  Lester;  that  man!  A  fine  lot  he  knows  about 
what  is  good  for  a  child.  A  card-player,  a  whisky- 
drinker!" 

"Now,  hush,  papa;  I  won't  have  you  talk  like  that," 
Jennie  would  reply  warmly.  "He's  a  good  man,  and 
you  know  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  a  good  man.  In  some  things,  maybe.  Not 
in  this.  No." 

He  went  away  groaning.  When  Lester  was  near  he 
said  nothing,  and  Vesta  could  wind  him  around  her  fin- 
ger. 

"Oh  you,"  she  would  say,  pulling  at  his  arm  or  rub- 
bing his  grizzled  cheek.  There  was  no  more  fight  in 
Gerhardt  when  Vesta  did  this.  He  lost  control  of  him- 
self— something  welled  up  and  choked  his  throat.  "  Yes, 
I  know  how  you  do,"  he  would  exclaim. 

Vesta  would  tweak  his  ear. 

"Stop  now!"  he  would  say.     "That  is  enough." 

It  was  noticeable,  however,  that  she  did  not  have  to 
stop  unless  she  herself  willed  it.  Gerhardt  adored  the 
child,  and  she  could  do  anything  with  him;  he  was  al- 
ways her  devoted  servitor. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

DURING  this  period  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  Kane 
family  with  Lester's  irregular  habit  of  life  grew 
steadily  stronger.  That  it  could  not  help  but  become 
an  open  scandal,  in  the  course  of  time,  was  sufficiently 
obvious  to  them.  Rumors  were  already  going  about. 
People  seemed  to  understand  in  a  wise  way,  though 
nothing  was  ever  said  directly.  Kane  senior  could 
scarcely  imagine  what  possessed  his  son  to  fly  in  the  face 
of  conventions  in  this  manner.  If  the  woman  had  been 
some  one  of  distinction — some  sorceress  of  the  stage, 
or  of  the  world  of  art,  or  letters,  his  action  would  have 
been  explicable  if  not  commendable,  but  with  this  crea- 
ture of  very  ordinary  capabilities,  as  Louise  had  described 
her,  this  putty-faced  nobody — he  could  not  possibly 
understand  it. 

Lester  was  his  son,  his  favorite  son;  it  was  too  bad 
that  he  had  not  settled  down  in  the  ordinary  way.  Look 
at  the  women  in  Cincinnati  who  knew  him  and  liked 
him.  Take  Letty  Pace,  for  instance.  Why  in  the  name 
of  common  sense  had  he  not  married  her  ?  She  was  good 
looking,  sympathetic,  talented.  The  old  man  grieved 
bitterly,  and  then,  by  degrees,  he  began  to  harden.  It 
seemed  a  shame  that  Lester  should  treat  him  so.  It 
wasn't  natural,  or  justifiable,  or  decent.  Archibald 
Kane  brooded  over  it  until  he  felt  that  some  change 
ought  to  be  enforced,  but  just  what  it  should  be  he 
could  not  say.  Lester  was  his  own  boss,  and  he  would 
resent  any  criticism  of  his  actions.  Apparently,  nothing 
could  be  done. 

273 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Certain  changes  helped  along  an  approaching  denoue* 
ment.  Louise  married  not  many  months  after  her  very 
disturbing  visit  to  Chicago,  and  then  the  home  property 
was  fairly  empty  except  for  visiting  grandchildren.  Les- 
ter did  not  attend  the  wedding,  though  he  was  invited. 
For  another  thing,  Mrs.  Kane  died,  making  a  readjust 
ment  of  the  family  will  necessary.  Lester  came  home  on 
this  occasion,  grieved  to  think  he  had  lately  seen  so  little 
of  his  mother — that  he  had  caused  her  so  much  pain — but 
he  had  no  explanation  to  make.  His  father  thought  at 
the  time  of  talking  to  him,  but  put  it  off  because  of  his 
obvious  gloom.  He  went  back  to  Chicago,  and  there  were 
more  months  of  silence. 

After  Mrs.  Kane's  death  and  Louise's  marriage,  the 
father  went  to  live  with  Robert,  for  his  three  grand- 
children afforded  him  his  greatest  pleasure  in  his  old  age. 
The  business,  except  for  the  final  adjustment  which 
would  come  after  his  death,  was  in  Robert's  hands.  The 
latter  was  consistently  agreeable  to  his  sisters  and  their 
husbands  and  to  his  father,  in  view  of  the  eventual  con- 
trol he  hoped  to  obtain.  He  was  not  a  sycophant  in  any 
sense  of  the  word,  but  a  shrewd,  cold  business  man,  far 
shrewder  than  his  brother  gave  him  credit  for.  He  was 
already  richer  than  any  two  of  the  other  children  put  to- 
gether, but  he  chose  to  keep  his  counsel  and  to  pretend 
modesty  of  fortune.  He  realized  the  danger  of  envy, 
and  preferred  a  Spartan  form  of  existence,  putting  all  the 
emphasis  on  inconspicuous  but  very  ready  and  very  hard 
cash.  While  Lester  was  drifting  Robert  was  working — 
working  all  the  time. 

Robert's  scheme  for  eliminating  his  brother  from 
participation  in  the  control  of  the  business  was  really 
not  very  essential,  for  his  father,  after  long  brooding  over 
the  details  of  the  Chicago  situation,  had  come  to  the 
definite  conclusion  that  any  large  share  of  his  property 
ought  not  to  go  to  Lester.  Obviously,  Lester  was  not  so 
strong  a  man  as  he  had  thought  him  to  be.  Of  the  two 

274 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

brothers,  Lester  might  be  the  bigger  intellectually  or 
sympathetically — artistically  and  socially  there  was  no 
comparison — but  Robert  got  commercial  results  in  a 
silent,  effective  way.  If  Lester  was  not  going  to  pull  him- 
self together  at  this  stage  of  the  game,  when  would  he  ? 
Better  leave  his  property  to  those  who  would  take  care 
of  it.  Archibald  Kane  thought  seriously  of  having  his 
lawyer  revise  his  will  in  such  a  way  that,  unless  Lester 
should  reform,  he  would  be  cut  off  with  only  a  nominal 
income.  But  he  decided  to  give  Lester  one  more  chance 
— to  make  a  plea,  in  fact,  that  he  should  abandon  his 
false  way  of  living,  and  put  himself  on  a  sound  basis 
before  the  world.  It  wasn't  too  late.  He  really  had  ^, 
great  future.  Would  he  deliberately  choose  to  throw  it 
away?  Old  Archibald  wrote  Lester  that  he  would  like 
to  have  a  talk  with  him  at  his  convenience,  and  within 
the  lapse  of  thirty-six  hours  Lester  was  in  Cincinnati. 

" I  thought  I'd  have  one  more  talk  with  you,  Lester, 
on  a  subject  that's  rather  difficult  for  me  to  bring  up," 
began  the  elder  Kane.  "You  know  what  I'm  referring 
to?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Lester,  calmly. 

"  I  used  to  think,  when  I  was  much  younger  that  my 
son's  matrimonial  ventures  would  never  concern  me, 
but  I  changed  my  views  on  that  score  when  I  got  a  little 
farther  along.  I  began  to  see  through  my  business  con- 
nections how  much  the  right  sort  of  a  marriage  helps  a 
man,  and  then  I  got  rather  anxious  that  my  boys  should 
marry  well.  I  used  to  worry  about  you,  Lester,  and  I'm 
worrying  yet.  This  recent  connection  you've  made  has 
caused  me  no  end  of  trouble.  It  worried  your  mother 
up  to  the  very  last.  It  was  her  one  great  sorrow.  Don't 
you  think  you  have  gone  far  enough  with  it  ?  The  scan- 
dal has  reached  down  here.  What  it  is  in  Chicago  I  don't 
know,  but  it  can't  be  a  secret.  That  can't  help  the 
house  in  business  there.  It  certainly  can't  help  you. 
The  whole  thing  has  gone  on  so  long  that  you  have  in- 
19  275 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

jured  your  prospects  all  around,  and  yet  you  continue. 
Why  do  you?" 

"I  suppose  because  I  love  her,"  Lester  replied. 

"You  can't  be  serious  in  that,"  said  his  father.  "If 
you  had  loved  her,  you'd  have  married  her  in  the  first 
place.  Surely  you  wouldn't  take  a  woman  and  live  with 
her  as  you  have  with  this  woman  for  years,  disgracing  her 
and  yourself,  and  still  claim  that  you  love  her.  You 
may  have  a  passion  for  her,  but  it  isn't  love." 

"How  do  you  know  I  haven't  married  her?"  inquired 
Lester  coolly.  He  wanted  to  see  how  his  father  woula 
take  to  that  idea. 

"You're  not  serious!"  The  old  gentleman  propped 
himself  up  on  his  arms  and  looked  at  him. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  replied  Lester,  "but  I  might  be.  I 
might  marry  her." 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  his  father  vigorously.  "I 
can't  believe  it.  I  can't  believe  a  man  of  your  intelli- 
gence would  do  a  thing  like  that,  Lester.  Where  is  your 
judgment  ?  Why,  you've  lived  in  open  adultery  with  her 
for  years,  and  now  you  talk  of  marrying  her.  Why,  in 
heaven's  name,  if  you  were  going  to  do  anything  like 
that,  didn't  you  do  it  in  the  first  place  ?  Disgrace  your 
parents,  break  your  mother's  heart,  injure  the  business, 
become  a  public  scandal,  and  then  marry  the  cause  of  it? 
I  don't  believe  it." 

Old  Archibald  got  up. 

"Don't  get  excited,  father,"  said  Lester  quickly. 
"We  won't  get  anywhere  that  way.  I  say  I  might 
marry  her.  She's  not  a  bad  woman,  and  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  about  her  as  you  do.  You've  never  seen 
her.  You  know  nothing  about  her." 

"I  know  enough,"  insisted  old  Archibald,  deter- 
minedly. "I  know  that  no  good  woman  would  act  as 
she  has  done.  Why,  man,  she's  after  your  money. 
What  else  could  she  want  ?  It's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on 
your  face." 

276 


JENNIE    GERHARD? 

"Father,"  said  Lester,  his  voice  lowering  ominously, 
"  why  do  you  talk  like  that  ?  You  never  saw  the  woman. 
You  wouldn't  know  her  from  Adam's  off  ox.  Louise 
comes  down  here  and  gives  an  excited  report,  and  you 
people  swallow  it  whole.  She  isn't  as  bad  as  you  think 
she  is,  and  I  wouldn't  use  the  language  you're  using  about 
her  if  I  were  you.  You're  doing  a  good  woman  an  in- 
justice, and  you  won't,  for  some  reason,  be  fair." 

"Fair!  Fair!"  interrupted  Archibald.  "Talk  about 
being  fair.  Is  it  fair  to  me,  to  your  family,  to  your  dead 
mother  to  take  a  woman  of  the  streets  and  live  with  her  ? 
Is  it—" 

"Stop  now,  father,"  exclaimed  Lester,  putting  up  his 
hand.  "I  warn  you.  I  won't  listen  to  talk  like  that. 
You're  talking  about  the  woman  that  I'm  living  with — 
that  I  may  marry.  I  love  you,  but  I  won't  have  you 
saying  things  that  aren't  so.  She  isn't  a  woman  of  the 
streets.  You  know,  as  well  as  you  know  anything,  that 
I  wouldn't  take  up  with  a  woman  of  that  kind.  We'll 
have  to  discuss  this  in  a  calmer  mood,  or  I  won't  stay 
here.  I'm  sorry.  I'm  awfully  sorry.  But  I  won't 
listen  to  any  such  language  as  that." 

Old  Archibald  quieted  himself.  In  spite  of  his  opposi- 
tion, he  respected  his  son's  point  of  view.  He  sat  back  in 
his  chair  and  stared  at  the  floor.  "  How  was  he  to  handle 
this  thing?"  he  asked  himself. 

"  Are  you  living  in  the  same  place  ?"  he  finally  inquired. 

"No,  we've  moved  out  to  Hyde  Park.  I've  taken  a 
house  out  there." 

"  I  hear  there's  a  child.     Is  that  yours  ?" 

"No." 

"Have  you  any  children  of  your  own?" 

"No." 

"Well,  that's  a  God's  blessing." 

Lester  merely  scratched  his  chin. 

"And  you  insist  you  will  marry  her?"  Archibald  went 
on. 

277 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  replied  his  son.  "I  said  I 
might." 

"Might!  Might!"  exclaimed  his  father,  his  anger 
bubbling  again.  "What  a  tragedy!  You  with  your 
prospects!  Your  outlook!  How  do  you  suppose  I  can 
seriously  contemplate  entrusting  any  share  of  my  fortune 
to  a  man  who  has  so  little  regard  for  what  the  world 
considers  as  right  and  proper?  Why,  Lester,  this  car- 
riage business,  your  family,  your  personal  reputation  ap- 
pear to  be  as  nothing  at  all  to  you.  I  can't  understand 
what  has  happened  to  your  pride.  It  seems  like  some 
wild,  impossible  fancy." 

"It's  pretty  hard  to  explain,  father,  and  I  can't  do  it 
very  well.  I  simply  know  that  I'm  in  this  affair,  and 
that  I'm  bound  to  see  it  through.  It  may  come  out  all 
right.  I  may  not  marry  her — I  may.  I'm  not  prepared 
now  to  say  what  I'll  do.  You'll  have  to  wait.  I'll  do 
the  best  I  can." 

Old  Archibald  merely  shook  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"You've  made  a  bad  mess  of  this,  Lester,"  he  said 
finally.  "Surely  you  have.  But  I  suppose  you  are 
determined  to  go  your  way.  Nothing  that  I  have  said 
appears  to  move  you." 

"Not  now,  father.     I'm  sorry." 

"Well,  I  warn  you,  then,  that,  unless  you  show  some 
consideration  for  the  dignity  of  your  family  and  the  honor 
of  your  position  it  will  make  a  difference  in  my  will.  I 
can't  go  on  countenancing  this  thing,  and  not  be  a  party 
to  it  morally  and  every  other  way.  I  won't  do  it.  You 
can  leave  her,  or  you  can  marry  her.  You  certainly 
ought  to  do  one  or  the  other.  If  you  leave  her,  every- 
thing will  be  all  right.  You  can  make  any  provision  for 
her  you  like.  I  have  no  objection  to  that.  I'll  gladly 
pay  whatever  you  agree  to.  You  will  share  with  the 
rest  of  the  children,  just  as  I  had  planned.  If  you  marry 
her  it  will  make  a  difference.  Now  do  as  you  please. 
But  don't  blame  me.  I  love  you.  I'm  your  father. 

278 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

I'm  doing  what  I  think  is  my  bounden  duty.  Now  you 
think  that  over  and  let  me  know." 

Lester  sighed.  He  saw  how  hopeless  this  argument 
was.  He  felt  that  his  father  probably  meant  what  he 
said,  but  how  could  he  leave  Jennie,  and  justify  himself 
to  himself  ?  Would  his  father  really  cut  him  off  ?  Surely 
not.  The  old  gentleman  loved  him  even  now — he  could 
see  it.  Lester  felt  troubled  and  distressed ;  this  attempt 
at  coercion  irritated  him.  The  idea — he,  Lester  Kane, 
being  made  to  do  such  a  thing — to  throw  Jennie  down. 
He  stared  at  the  floor. 

Old  Archibald  saw  that  he  had  let  fly  a  telling  bullet. 

"Well,"  said  Lester  finally,  "there's  no  use  of  our 
discussing  it  any  further  now — that's  certain,  isn't  it? 
I  can't  say  what  I'll  do.  I'll  have  to  take  time  and 
think.  I  can't  decide  this  offhand." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other.  Lester  was  sorry  for 
the  world's  attitude  and  for  his  father's  keen  feeling 
about  the  affair.  Kane  senior  was  sorry  for  his  son, 
but  he  was  determined  to  see  the  thing  through.  He 
wasn't  sure  whether  he  had  converted  Lester  or  not,  but 
he  was  hopeful.  Maybe  he  would  come  around  yet. 

"Good-by,  father,"  said  Lester,  holding  out  his  hand. 
"I  think  I'll  try  and  make  that  two-ten  train.  There 
isn't  anything  else  you  wanted  to  see  me  about  ?" 

"No." 

The  old  man  sat  there  after  Lester  had  gone,  thinking 
deeply.  What  a  twisted  career!  What  an  end  to  great 
possibilities?  What  a  foolhardy  persistence  in  evil  and 
error!  He  shook  his  head.  Robert  was  wiser.  He 
was  the  one  to  control  a  business.  He  was  cool  and  con- 
servative. If  Lester  were  only  like  that.  He  thought 
and  thought.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he  stirred.  And 
still,  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  his  erring  son  continued 
to  appeal  to  him. 


CHAPTER   XL 

T  ESTER  returned  to  Chicago.  He  realized  that  he 
JL/had  offended  his  father  seriously,  how  seriously 
he  could  not  say.  In  all  his  personal  relations  with  old 
Archibald  he  had  never  seen  him  so  worked  up.  But 
even  now  Lester  did  not  feel  that  the  breach  was  irrep- 
arable ;  he  hardly  realized  that  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  act  decisively  if  he  hoped  to  retain  his  father's  affection 
and  confidence.  As  for  the  world  at  large,  what  did  it 
matter  how  much  people  talked  or  what  they  said.  He 
was  big  enough  to  stand  alone.  But  was  he?  People 
turn  so  quickly  from  weakness  or  the  shadow  of  it.  To 
get  away  from  failure — even  the  mere  suspicion  of  it — 
that  seems  to  be  a  subconscious  feeling  with  the  average 
man  and  woman ;  we  all  avoid  non-success  as  though  we 
fear  that  it  may  prove  contagious.  Lester  was  soon  to 
feel  the  force  of  this  prejudice. 

One  day  Lester  happened  to  run  across  Berry  Dodge, 
the  millionaire  head  of  Dodge,  Holbrook  &  Kingsbury, 
a  firm  that  stood  in  the  dry-goods  world,  where  the  Kane 
Company  stood  in  the  carriage  world.  Dodge  had  been 
one  of  Lester's  best  friends.  He  knew  him  as  intimately 
as  he  knew  Henry  Bracebridge,  of  Cleveland,  and  George 
Knowles,  of  Cincinnati.  He  visited  at  his  handsome 
home  on  the  North  Shore  Drive,  and  they  met  constantly 
in  a  business  and  social  way.  But  since  Lester  had 
moved  out  to  Hyde  Park,  the  old  intimacy  had  lapsed. 
Now  they  came  face  to  face  on  Michigan  Avenue  near 
the  Kane  building. 

"Why,  Lester,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again,"  said  Dodge. 

280 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

He  extended  a  formal  hand,  and  seemed  just  a  little 
cool.  "  I  hear  you've  gone  and  married  since  I  saw 
you." 

"No,  nothing  like  that,"  replied  Lester,  easily,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  prefers  to  be  understood  in  the  way  of 
the  world  sense. 

"Why  so  secret  about  it,  if  you  have?"  asked  Dodge, 
attempting  to  smile,  but  with  a  wry  twist  to  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  He  was  trying  to  be  nice,  and  to  go 
through  a  difficult  situation  gracefully.  "We  fellows 
usually  make  a  fuss  about  that  sort  of  thing.  You 
ought  to  let  your  friends  know." 

"Well,"  said  Lester,  feeling  the  edge  of  the  social 
blade  that  was  being  driven  into  him,  "I  thought  I'd  do 
it  in  a  new  way.  I'm  not  much  for  excitement  in  that 
direction,  anyhow." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  taste,  isn't  it?"  said  Dodge  a  little 
absently.  "  You're  living  in  the  city,  of  course?" 

"In  Hyde  Park." 

"That's  a  pleasant  territory.  How  are  things  other- 
wise ?"  And  he  deftly  changed  the  subject  before  waving 
him  a  perfunctory  farewell. 

Lester  missed  at  once  the  inquiries  which  a  man  like 
Dodge  would  have  made  if  he  had  really  believed  that  he 
was  married.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  his  friend 
would  have  wanted  to  know  a  great  deal  about  the  new 
Mrs.  Kane.  There  would  have  been  all  those  little 
familiar  touches  common  to  people  living  on  the  same 
social  plane.  Dodge  would  have  asked  Lester  to  bring 
his  wife  over  to  see  them,  would  have  definitely  promised 
to  call.  Nothing  of  the  sort  happened,  and  Lester 
noticed  the  significant  omission. 

It  was  the  same  with  the  Burnham  Moores,  the  Henry 
Aldriches,  and  a  score  of  other  people  whom  he  knew 
equally  well.  Apparently  they  all  thought  that  he 
had  married  and  settled  down.  They  were  interested 
to  know  where  he  was  living,  and  they  were  rather  dis- 

281 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

posed  to  joke  him  about  being  so  very  secretive  on 
the  subject,  but  they  were  not  willing  to  discuss  the 
supposed  Mrs.  Kane.  He  was  beginning  to  see  that 
this  move  of  his  was  going  to  tell  against  him  nota- 
bly. 

One  of  the  worst  stabs — it  was  the  cruelest  because, 
in  a  way,  it  was  the  most  unintentional — he  received 
from  an  old  acquaintance,  Will  Whitney,  at  the  Union 
Club.  Lester  was  dining  there  one  evening,  and  Whitney 
met  him  in  the  main  reading-room  as  he  was  crossing 
from  the  cloak-room  to  the  cigar-stand.  The  latter  was 
a  typical  society  figure,  tall,  lean,  smoothfaced,  immacu- 
lately garbed,  a  little  cynical,  and  to-night  a  little  the 
worse  for  liquor.  "Hi,  Lester!"  he  called  out,  "what's 
this  talk  about  a  menage  of  yours  out  in  Hyde  Park? 
Say,  you're  going  some.  How  are  you  going  to  explain 
all  this  to  your  wife  when  you  get  married?" 

"I  don't  have  to  explain  it,"  replied  Lester  irritably. 
' '  Why  should  you  be  so  interested  in  my  affairs  ?  You're 
not  living  in  a  stone  house,  are  you?" 

"Say,  ha!  ha!  that's  pretty  good  now,  isn't  it? 
You  didn't  marry  that  little  beauty  you  used  to  travel 
around  with  on  the  North  Side,  did  you?  Eh,  now! 
Ha,  ha!  Well,  I  swear.  You  married!  You  didn't, 
now,  did  you?" 

"  Cut  it  out,  Whitney,"  said  Lester  roughly.  "  You're 
talking  wild." 

"Pardon,  Lester,"  said  the  other  aimlessly,  but  sober- 
ing. "I  beg  your  pardon.  Remember,  I'm  just  a  little 
warm.  Eight  whisky -sours  straight  in  the  other  room 
there.  Pardon.  I'll  talk  to  you  some  time  when  I'm 
all  right.  See,  Lester?  Eh!  Ha!  ha!  I'm  a  little 
loose,  that's  right.  Well,  so  long!  Ha!  ha!" 

Lester  could  not  get  over  that  cacaphonous  "ha!  ha!" 
It  cut  him,  even  though  it  came  from  a  drunken  man's 
mouth.  "That  little  beauty  you  used  to  travel  with  on 
the  North  Side.  You  didn't  marry  her,  did  you  ?"  He 

282 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

quoted  Whitney's  impertinences  resentfully.  George! 
But  this  was  getting  a  little  rough !  He  had  never  en- 
dured anything  like  this  before — he,  Lester  Kane.  It 
set  him  thinking.  Certainly  he  was  paying  dearly  for 
trying  to  do  the  kind  thing  by  Jennie. 


CHAPTER   XLI 

BUT  worse  was  to  follow.  The  American  public 
likes  gossip  about  well  -  known  people,  and  the 
Kanes  were  wealthy  and  socially  prominent.  The  re- 
port was  that  Lester,  one  of  its  principal  heirs,  had 
married  a  servant  girl.  He,  an  heir  to  millions!  Could 
it  be  possible?  What  a  piquant  morsel  for  the  news- 
papers! Very  soon  the  paragraphs  began  to  appear. 
A  small  society  paper,  called  the  South  Side  Budget,  re- 
ferred to  him  anonymously  as  "the  son  of  a  famous  and 
wealthy  carriage  manufacturer  of  Cincinnati,"  and  out- 
lined briefly  what  it  knew  of  the  story.  "  Of  Mrs. ' '  it 

went  on,  sagely,  "not  so  much  is  known,  except  that  she 
once  worked  in  a  well-known  Cleveland  society  family 
as  a  maid  and  was,  before  that,  a  working-girl  in  Colum- 
bus, Ohio.  After  such  a  picturesque  love-affair  in  high 
society,  who  shall  say  that  romance  is  dead?" 

Lester  saw  this  item.  He  did  not  take  the  paper,  but 
some  kind  soul  took  good  care  to  see  that  a  copy  was 
marked  and  mailed  to  him.  It  irritated  him  greatly, 
for  he  suspected  at  once  that  it  was  a  scheme  to  black- 
mail him.  But  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do 
about  it.  He  preferred,  of  course,  that  such  comments 
should  cease,  but  he  also  thought  that  if  he  made  any 
effort  to  have  them  stopped  he  might  make  matters 
worse.  So  he  did  nothing.  Naturally,  the  paragraph 
in  the  Budget  attracted  the  attention  of  other  news- 
papers. It  sounded  like  a  good  story,  and  one  Sunday 
editor,  more  enterprising  than  the  others,  conceived  the 
notion  of  having  this  romance  written  up.  A  full-page 
Sunday  story  with  a  scare-head  such  as  "Sacrifices  Mil- 

284 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

lions  for  His  Servant  Girl  Love,"  pictures  of  Lester, 
Jennie,  the  house  at  Hyde  Park,  the  Kane  manufactory 
at  Cincinnati,  the  warehouse  on  Michigan  Avenue — 
certainly,  such  a  display  would  make  a  sensation.  The 
Kane  Company  was  not  an  advertiser  in  any  daily  or 
Sunday  paper.  The  newspaper  owed  him  nothing.  If 
Lester  had  been  forewarned  he  might  have  put  a  stop  to 
the  whole  business  by  putting  an  advertisement  in  the 
paper  or  appealing  to  the  publisher.  He  did  not  know, 
however,  and  so  was  without  power  to  prevent  the 
publication.  The  editor  made  a  thorough  job  of  the 
business.  Local  newspaper  men  in  Cincinnati,  Cleve- 
land, and  Columbus  were  instructed  to  report  by  wire 
whether  anything  of  Jennie's  history  was  known  in  their 
city.  The  Bracebridge  family  in  Cleveland  was  asked 
whether  Jennie  had  ever  worked  there.  A  garbled 
history  of  the  Gerhardts  was  obtained  from  Columbus. 
Jennie's  residence  on  the  North  Side,  for  several  years 
prior  to  her  supposed  marriage,  was  discovered  and  so 
the  whole  story  was  nicely  pieced  together.  It  was  not 
the  idea  of  the  newspaper  editor  to  be  cruel  or  critical, 
but  rather  complimentary.  All  the  bitter  things,  such 
as  the  probable  illegitimacy  of  Vesta,  the  suspected  im- 
morality of  Lester  and  Jennie  in  residing  together  as 
man  and  wife,  the  real  grounds  of  the  well-known  objec- 
tions of  his  family  to  the  match,  were  ignored.  The 
idea  was  to  frame  up  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  story  in  which 
Lester  should  appear  as  an  ardent,  self-sacrificing  lover, 
and  Jennie  as  a  poor  and  lovely  working-girl,  lifted  to 
great  financial  and  social  heights  by  the  devotion  of  her 
millionaire  lover.  An  exceptional  newspaper  artist  was 
engaged  to  make  scenes  depicting  the  various  steps  of  the 
romance  and  the  whole  thing  was  handled  in  the  most 
approved  yellow- journal  style.  There  was  a  picture  of 
Lester  obtained  from  his  Cincinnati  photographer  for  a 
consideration;  Jennie  had  been  surreptitiously  "snap- 
ped" by  a  staff  artist  while  she  was  out  walking. 

285 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

And  so,  apparently  out  of  a  clear  sky,  the  story  ap- 
peared— highly  complimentary,  running  over  with 
sugary  phrases,  but  with  all  the  dark,  sad  facts  looming 
up  in  the  background.  Jennie  did  not  see  it  at  first. 
Lester  came  across  the  page  accidentally,  and  tore  it 
out.  He  was  stunned  and  chagrined  beyond  words. 
"To  think  the  damned  newspaper  would  do  that  to  a 
private  citizen  who  was  quietly  minding  his  own  busi- 
ness!" he  thought.  He  went  out  of  the  house,  the  better 
to  conceal  his  deep  inward  mortification.  He  avoided 
the  more  populous  parts  of  the  town,  particularly 
the  down-town  section,  and  rode  far  out  on  Cottage 
Grove  Avenue  to  the  open  prairie.  He  wondered,  as 
the  trolley-car  rumbled  along,  what  his  friends  were 
thinking — Dodge,  and  Burnham  Moore,  and  Henry  Al- 
drich,  and  the  others.  This  was  a  smash,  indeed.  The 
best  he  could  do  was  to  put  a  brave  face  on  it  and  say 
nothing,  or  else  wave  it  off  with  an  indifferent  motion  of 
the  hand.  One  thing  was  sure — he  would  prevent  further 
comment.  He  returned  to  the  house  calmer,  his  self- 
poise  restored,  but  he  was  eager  for  Monday  to  come  in 
order  that  he  might  get  in  touch  with  his  lawyer,  Mr. 
Watson.  But  when  he  did  see  Mr.  Watson  it  was  soon 
agreed  between  the  two  men  that  it  would  be  foolish  to 
take  any  legal  action.  It  was  the  part  of  wisdom  to 
let  the  matter  drop.  "But  I  won't  stand  for  anything 
more,"  concluded  Lester. 

"I'll  attend  to  that,"  said  the  lawyer,  consolingly. 

Lester  got  up.  "It's  amazing — this  damned  country 
of  ours!"  he  exclaimed.  "A  man  with  a  little  money 
hasn't  any  more  privacy  than  a  public  monument." 

"A  man  with  a  little  money,"  said  Mr.  Watson,  "is 
just  like  a  cat  with  a  bell  around  its  neck.  Every  rat 
knows  exactly  where  it  is  and  what  it  is  doing." 

"That's  an  apt  simile,"  assented  Lester,  bitterly. 

Jennie  knew  nothing  of  this  newspaper  story  for 
several  days.  Lester  felt  that  he  could  not  talk  it  over, 

286 


JENNI E    GEPHARDT 

and  Gerhardt  never  read  the  wicked  Sunday  newspapers. 
Finally,  one  of  Jennie's  neighborhood  friends,  less  tactful 
than  the  others,  called  her  attention  to  the  fact  of  its 
appearance  by  announcing  that  she  had  seen  it.  Jennie 
did  not  understand  at  first.  "A  story  about  me?"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  You  and  Mr.  Kane,  yes,"  replied  her  guest.  "Your 
love  romance." 

Jennie  colored  swiftly.  "Why,  I  hadn't  seen  it,"  she 
said.  "Are  you  sure  it  was  about  us?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  laughed  Mrs.  Stendahl.  "How 
could  I  be  mistaken?  I  have  the  paper  over  at  the 
house.  I'll  send  Marie  over  with  it  when  I  get  back. 
You  look  very  sweet  in  your  picture." 

Jennie  winced. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  she  said,  weakly. 

She  was  wondering  where  they  had  secured  her  picture, 
what  the  article  said.  Above  all,  she  was  dismayed  to 
think  of  its  effect  upon  Lester.  Had  he  seen  the  article  ? 
Why  had  he  not  spoken  to  her  about  it  ? 

The  neighbor's  daughter  brought  over  the  paper,  and 
Jennie's  heart  stood  still  as  she  glanced  at  the  title-page. 
There  it  all  was  —  uncompromising  and  direct.  How 
dreadfully  conspicuous  the  headline — "This  Millionaire 
Fell  in  Love  With  This  Lady's  Maid,"  which  ran  between 
a  picture  of  Lester  on  the  left  and  Jennie  on  the  right. 
There  was  an  additional  caption  which  explained  how 
Lester,  son  of  the  famous  carriage  family  of  Cincinnati, 
had  sacrificed  great  social  opportunity  and  distinction 
to  marry  his  heart's  desire.  Below  were  scattered  a 
number  of  other  pictures — Lester  addressing  Jennie  in 
the  mansion  of  Mrs.  Braceb ridge,  Lester  standing  with 
her  before  an  imposing  and  conventional-looking  parson, 
Lester  driving  with  her  in  a  handsome  victoria,  Jennie 
standing  beside  the  window  of  an  imposing  mansion 
(the  fact  that  it  was  a  mansion  being  indicated  by  most 
sumptuous-looking  han gin p-.q}  and  gazing  out  on  a  very 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

modest  working-man's  cottage  pictured  in  the  distance. 
Jennie  felt  as  though  she  must  die  for  very  shame.  She 
did  not  so  much  mind  what  it  meant  to  her,  but  Lester, 
Lester,  how  must  he  feel  ?  And  his  family  ?  Now  they 
would  have  another  club  with  which  to  strike  him  and 
her.  She  tried  to  keep  calm  about  it,  to  exert  emo- 
tional control,  but  again  the  tears  would  rise,  only  this 
time  they  were  tears  of  opposition  to  defeat.  She  did 
not  want  to  be  hounded  this  way.  She  wanted  to  be  let 
alone.  She  was  trying  to  do  right  now.  Why  couldn't 
the  world  help  her,  instead  of  seeking  to  push  her  down  ? 


CHAPTER   XLII 

THE  fact  that  Lester  had  seen  this  page  was  made 
perfectly  clear  to  Jennie  that  evening,  for  he  brought 
it  home  himself,  having  concluded,  after  mature  delibera- 
tion, that  he  ought  to.  He  had  told  her  once  that  there 
was  to  be  no  concealment  between  them,  and  this  thing, 
coming  so  brutally  to  disturb  their  peace,  was  neverthe- 
less a  case  in  point.  He  had  decided  to  tell  her  not  to 
think  anything  of  it — that  it  did  not  make  much  differ- 
ence, though  to  him  it  made  all  the  difference  in  the 
world.  The  effect  of  this  chill  history  could  never  be 
undone.  The  wise — and  they  included  all  his  social 
world  and  many  who  were  not  of  it — could  see  just  how 
he  had  been  living.  The  article  which  accompanied  the 
pictures  told  how  he  had  followed  Jennie  from  Cleveland 
to  Chicago,  how  she  had  been  coy  and  distant  and  that  he 
had  to  court  her  a  long  time  to  win  her  consent.  This 
was  to  explain  their  living  together  on  the  North  Side. 
Lester  realized  that  this  was  an  asinine  attempt  to  sugar- 
coat  the  true  story  and  it  made  him  angry.  Still  he 
preferred  to  have  it  that  way  rather  than  in  some  more 
brutal  vein.  He  took  the  paper  out  of  his  pocket  when 
he  arrived  at  the  house,  spreading  it  on  the  library  table. 
Jennie,  who  was  close  by,  watched  him,  for  she  knew 
what  was  coming. 

"Here's  something  that  will  interest  you,  Jennie,"  he 
said  dryly,  pointing  to  the  array  of  text  and  pictures. 

''I've  already  seen  it,  Lester,"  she  said  wearily.  "Mrs. 
Stendahl  showed  it  to  me  this  afternoon.  I  was  won- 
dering whether  you  had." 

289 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"Rather  high-flown  description  of  my  attitude,  isn't 
it?  I  didn't  know  I  was  such  an  ardent  Romeo." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Lester,"  said  Jennie,  reading  be- 
hind the  dry  face  of  humor  the  serious  import  of  this 
affair  to  him.  She  had  long  since  learned  that  Lester 
did  not  express  his  real  feeling,  his  big  ills  in  words.  He 
was  inclined  to  jest  and  make  light  of  the  inevitable, 
the  inexorable.  This  light  comment  merely  meant 
"this  matter  cannot  be  helped,  so  we  will  make  the  best 
of  it." 

"Oh,  don't  feel  badly  about  it,"  he  went  on.  "It 
isn't  anything  which  can  be  adjusted  now.  They  prob- 
ably meant  well  enough.  We  just  happen  to  be  in  the 
limelight." 

"I  understand,"  said  Jennie,  coming  over  to  him. 
"I'm  sorry,  though,  anyway."  Dinner  was  announced 
a  moment  later  and  the  incident  was  closed. 

But  Lester  could  not  dismiss  the  thought  that  matters 
were  getting  in  a  bad  way.  His  father  had  pointed  it 
out  to  him  rather  plainly  at  the  last  interview,  and  now 
this  newspaper  notoriety  had  capped  the  climax.  He 
might  as  well  abandon  his  pretension  to  intimacy  with 
his  old  world.  It  would  have  none  of  him,  or  at  least 
the  more  conservative  part  of  it  would  not.  There  were 
a  few  bachelors,  a  few  gay  married  men,  some  sophisti- 
cated women,  single  and  married,  who  saw  through  it  all 
and  liked  him  just  the  same,  but  they  did  not  make 
society.  He  was  virtually  an  outcast,  and  nothing  could 
save  him  but  to  reform  his  ways;  in  other  words,  he  must 
give  up  Jennie  once  and  for  all. 

But  he  did  not  want  to  do  this.  The  thought  was 
painful  to  him — objectionable  in  every  way.  Jennie  was 
growing  in  mental  acumen.  She  was  beginning  to  see 
things  quite  as  clearly  as  he  did.  She  was  not  a  cheap, 
ambitious,  climbing  creature.  She  was  a  big  woman 
and  a  good  one.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  throw  her  down, 
and  besides  she  was  good-lookng.  He  was  forty-six 

290 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

and  she  was  twenty-nine ;  and  she  looked  twenty-four  ov 
five.  It  is  an  exceptional  thing  to  find  beauty,  youth, 
compatibility,  intelligence,  your  own  point  of  view- 
softened  and  charmingly  emotionalized — in  another.  He 
had  made  his  bed,  as  his  father  had  said.  He  had  better 
lie  on  it. 

It  was  only  a  little  while  after  this  disagreeable  news- 
paper incident  that  Lester  had  word  that  his  father  was 
quite  ill  and  failing ;  it  might  be  necessary  for  him  to  go 
to  Cincinnati  at  any  moment.  Pressure  of  work  was 
holding  him  pretty  close  when  the  news  came  that  his 
father  was  dead.  Lester,  of  course,  was  greatly  shocked 
and  grieved,  and  he  returned  to  Cincinnati  in  a  retro- 
spective and  sorrowful  mood.  His  father  had  been  a 
great  character  to  him — a  fine  and  interesting  old  gentle- 
man entirely  aside  from  his  relationship  to  him  as  his 
son.  He  remembered  him  now  dandling  him  upon  his 
knee  as  a  child,  telling  him  stories  of  his  early  life  in  Ire- 
land, and  of  his  subsequent  commercial  struggle  when  he 
was  a  little  older,  impressing  the  maxims  of  his  business 
career  and  his  commercial  wisdom  on  him  as  he  grew  to 
manhood.  Old  Archibald  had  been  radically  honest. 
It  was  to  him  that  Lester  owed  his  instincts  for  plain 
speech  and  direct  statement  of  fact.  "Never  lie,"  was 
Archibald's  constant,  reiterated  statement.  "Never 
try  to  make  a  thing  look  different  from  what  it  is  to  you. 
It's  the  breath  of  life — truth — it's  the  basis  of  real  worth, 
while  commercial  success — it  will  make  a  notable  charac- 
ter of  any  one  who  will  stick  to  it."  Lester  believed  this. 
He  admired  his  father  intensely  for  his  rigid  insistence  on 
truth,  and  now  that  he  was  really  gone  he  felt  sorry. 
He  wished  he  might  have  been  spared  to  be  reconciled  to 
him.  He  half  fancied  that  old  Archibald  would  have 
liked  Jennie  if  he  had  known  her.  He  did  not  imagine 
that  he  would  ever  have  had  the  opportunity  to  straight- 
en things  out,  although  he  still  felt  that  Archibald  would 
have  liked  her. 

20  291 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

When  he  reached  Cincinnati  it  was  snowing,  a  windy, 
blustery  snow.  The  flakes  were  coming  down  thick  and 
fast.  The  traffic  of  the  city  had  a  muffled  sound.  When 
he  stepped  down  from  the  train  he  was  met  by  Amy,  who 
was  glad  to  see  him  in  spite  of  all  their  past  differences. 
Of  all  the  girls  she  was  the  most  tolerant.  Lester  put 
his  arms  about  her,  and  kissed  her. 

"It  seems  like  old  times  to  see  you,  Amy,"  he  said, 
"your  coming  to  meet  me  this  way.  How's  the  family? 
I  suppose  they're  all  here.  Well,  poor  father,  his  time 
had  to  come.  Still,  he  lived  to  see  everything  that  he 
wanted  to  see.  I  guess  he  was  pretty  well  satisfied  with 
the  outcome  of  his  efforts." 

"Yes,"  replied  Amy,  "and  since  mother  died  he  was 
very  lonely." 

They  rode  up  to  the  house  in  kindly  good  feeling,  chat- 
ting of  old  times  and  places.  All  the  members  of  the 
immediate  family,  and  the  various  relatives,  were  gath- 
ered in  the  old  family  mansion.  Lester  exchanged  the 
customary  condolences  with  the  others,  realizing  all  the 
while  that  his  father  had  lived  long  enough.  He  had  had 
a  successful  life,  and  had  fallen  like  a  ripe  apple  from  the 
tree.  Lester  looked  at  him  where  he  lay  in  the  great 
parlor,  in  his  black  coffin,  and  a  feeling  of  the  old-time 
affection  swept  over  him.  He  smiled  at  the  clean-cut,  de- 
termined, conscientious  face. 

"The  old  gentleman  was  a  big  man  all  the  way 
through,"  he  said  to  Robert,  who  was  present.  "We 
won't  find  a  better  figure  of  a  man  soon." 

"We  will  not,"  said  his  brother,  solemnly. 

After  the  funeral  it  was  decided  to  read  the  will  at 
once.  Louise's  husband  was  anxious  to  return  to  Buffa- 
lo; Lester  was  compelled  to  be  in  Chicago.  A  confer- 
ence of  the  various  members  of  the  family  was  called  for 
the  second  day  after  the  funeral,  to  be  held  at  the  offices 
of  Messrs.  Knight,  Keatley  &  O'Brien,  counselors  of  the 
late  manufacturer. 

292 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

As  Lester  rode  to  the  meeting  he  had  the  feeling  that 
his  father  had  not  acted  in  any  way  prejudicial  to  his 
interests.  It  had  not  been  so  very  long  since  they  had 
had  their  last  conversation;  he  had  been  taking  his 
time  to  think  about  things,  and  his  father  had  given 
him  time.  He  always  felt  that  he  had  stood  well  with 
the  old  gentleman,  except  for  his  alliance  with  Jennie. 
His  business  judgment  had  been  valuable  to  the  com- 
pany. Why  should  there  be  any  discrimination  against 
him?  He  really  did  not  think  it  possible. 

When  they  reached  the  offices  of  the  law  firm,  Mr. 
O'Brien,  a  short,  fussy,  albeit  comfort  able -looking  little 
person,  greeted  all  the  members  of  the  family  and  the 
various  heirs  and  assigns  with  a  hearty  handshake.  He 
had  been  personal  counsel  to  Archibald  Kane  for  twenty 
years.  He  knew  his  whims  and  idiosyncrasies,  and  con- 
sidered himself  very  much  in  the  light  of  a  father  con- 
fessor. He  liked  all  the  children,  Lester  especially. 

"Now  I  believe  we  are  all  here,"  he  said,  finally,  ex- 
tracting a  pair  of  large  horn  reading-glasses  from  his 
coat  pocket  and  looking  sagely  about.  "Very  well. 
We  might  as  well  proceed  to  business.  I  will  just  read 
the  will  without  any  preliminary  remarks." 

He  turned  to  his  desk,  picked  up  a  paper  lying  upon  it, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  began. 

It  was  a  peculiar  document,  in  some  respects,  for  it 
began  with  all  the  minor  bequests;  first,  small  sums  to 
old  employes,  servants,  and  friends.  It  then  took  up  a 
few  institutional  bequests,  and  finally  came  to  the  im- 
mediate family,  beginning  with  the  girls.  Imogene,  as  a 
faithful  and  loving  daughter  was  left  a  sixth  of  the  stock 
of  the  carriage  company  and  a  fourth  of  the  remaining 
properties  of  the  deceased,  which  roughly  aggregated 
(the  estate — not  her  share)  about  eight  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  Amy  and  Louise  were  provided  for  in 
exactly  the  same  proportion.  The  grandchildren  were 
given  certain  little  bonuses  for  good  conduct,  when  they 

293 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

should  come  of  age.     Then  it  took  up  the  cases  of  Robert 
and  Lester. 

"  Owing  to  certain  complications  which  have  arisen  in 
the  affairs  of  my  son  Lester,"  it  began,  "I  deem  it  my 
duty  to  make  certain  conditions  which  shall  govern  the 
distribution  of  the  remainder  of  my  property,  to  wit: 
One-fourth  of  the  stock  of  the  Kane  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany and  one-fourth  of  the  remainder  of  my  various 
properties,  real,  personal,  moneys,  stocks  and  bonds,  to  go 
to  my  beloved  son  Robert,  in  recognition  of  the  faithful 
performance  of  his  duty,  and  one-fourth  of  the  stock  of 
the  Kane  Manufacturing  Company  and  the  remaining 
fourth  of  my  various  properties,  real,  personal,  moneys, 
stocks  and  bonds,  to  be  held  in  trust  by  him  for  the  bene- 
fit of  his  brother  Lester,  until  such  time  as  such  con- 
ditions as  may  hereinafter  be  set  forth  shall  have  been 
complied  with.  And  it  is  my  wish  and  desire  that  my 
children  shall  concur  in  his  direction  of  the  Kane  Manu- 
facturing Company,  and  of  such  other  interests  as  are 
entrusted  to  him,  until  such  time  as  he  shall  voluntarily 
relinquish  such  control,  or  shall  indicate  another  arrange- 
ment which  shall  be  better." 

Lester  swore  under  his  breath.  His  cheeks  changed 
color,  but  he  did  not  move.  He  was  not  inclined  to 
make  a  show.  It  appeared  that  he  was  not  even  men- 
tioned separately. 

The  conditions  "hereinafter  set  forth"  dealt  very 
fully  with  his  case,  however,  though  they  were  not  read 
aloud  to  the  family  at  the  time,  Mr.  O'Brien  stating  that 
this  was  in  accordance  with  their  father's  wish.  Lester 
learned  immediately  afterward  that  he  was  to  have  ten 
thousand  a  year  for  three  years,  during  which  time  he  had 
the  choice  of  doing  either  one  of  two  things :  First,  he  was 
to  leave  Jennie,  if  he  had  not  already  married  her,  and  so 
bring  his  life  into  moral  conformity  with  the  wishes  of  his 
father.  In  this  event  Lester's  share  of  the  estate  was  to 

294 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

be  immediately  turned  over  to  him.  Secondly,  he  might 
elect  to  marry  Jennie,  if  he  had  not  already  done  so,  in 
which  case  the  ten  thousand  a  year,  specifically  set  aside 
to  him  for  three  years,  was  to  be  continued  for  life — but 
for  his  life  only.  Jennie  was  not  to  have  anything  of  it 
after  his  death.  The  ten  thousand  in  question  repre- 
sented the  annual  interest  on  two  hundred  shares  of 
L.  S.  and  M.  S.  stock  which  were  also  to  be  held  in  trust 
until  his  decision  had  been  reached  and  their  final  dis- 
position effected.  If  Lester  refused  to  marry  Jennie,  or 
to  leave  her,  he  was  to  have  nothing  at  all  after  the  three 
years  were  up.  At  Lester's  death  the  stock  on  which  his 
interest  was  drawn  was  to  be  divided  pro  rata  among  the 
surviving  members  of  the  family.  If  any  heir  or  assign 
contested  the  will,  his  or  her  share  was  thereby  forfeited 
entirely. 

It  was  astonishing  to  Lester  to  see  how  thoroughly 
his  father  had  taken  his  case  into  consideration.  He 
half  suspected,  on  reading  these  conditions,  that  his 
brother  Robert  had  had  something  to  do  with  the 
framing  of  them,  but  of  course  he  could  not  be  sure. 
Robert  had  not  given  any  direct  evidence  of  enmity. 

"Who  drew  this  will?"  he  demanded  of  O'Brien,  q 
little  later. 

"Well,  we  all  had  a  hand  in  it,"  replied  O'Brien,  a 
little  shamefacedly.  "It  was  a  very  difficult  document 
to  draw  up.  You  know,  Mr.  Kane,  there  was  no  budging 
your  father.  He  was  adamant.  He  has  come  very 
near  defeating  his  own  wishes  in  some  of  these  clauses. 
Of  course,  you  know,  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  its  spirit. 
That  was  between  you  and  him.  I  hated  very  much  to 
have  to  do  it." 

"Oh,  I  understand  all  that!"  said  Lester.  "Don't  let 
that  worry  you." 

Mr.  O'Brien  was  very  grateful. 

During  the  reading  of  the  will  Lester  had  sat  as  stolid 
as  an  ox. 

295 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

He  got  up  after  a  time,  as  did  the  others,  assuming  an 
air  of  nonchalance.  Robert,  Amy,  Louise  and  Imogene 
all  felt  shocked,  but  not  exactly,  not  unqualifiedly  re- 
gretful. Certainly  Lester  had  acted  very  badly.  He 
had  given  his  father  great  provocation. 

"I  think  the  old  gentleman  has  been  a  little  rough  in 
this,"  said  Robert,  who  had  been  sitting  next  him.  "I 
certainly  did  not  expect  him  to  go  as  far  as  that.  So  far 
as  I  am  concerned  some  other  arrangement  would  have 
been  satisfactory." 

Lester  smiled  grimly.     "  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said. 

Imogene,  Amy,  and  Louise  were  anxious  to  be  consola- 
tory, but  they  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Lester  had 
brought  it  all  on  himself.  "I  don't  think  papa  acted 
quite  right,  Lester,"  ventured  Amy,  but  Lester  waved 
her  away  almost  gruffly. 

"I  can  stand  it,"  he  said. 

He  figured  out,  as  he  stood  there,  what  his  income 
would  be  in  case  he  refused  to  comply  with  his  father's 
wishes.  Two  hundred  shares  of  L.  S.  and  M.  S.,  in  open 
market,  were  worth  a  little  over  one  thousand  each. 
They  yielded  from  five  to  six  per  cent.,  sometimes  more, 
sometimes  less.  At  this  rate  he  would  have  ten  thou- 
sand a  year,  not  more. 

The  family  gathering  broke  up,  each  going  his  way, 
and  Lester  returned  to  his  sister's  house.  He  wanted 
to  get  out  of  the  city  quickly,  gave  business  as  an  ex- 
cuse to  avoid  lunching  with  any  one,  and  caught  the 
earliest  train  back  to  Chicago.  As  he  rode  he  med- 
itated. 

So  this  was  how  much  his  father  really  cared  for  him ! 
Could  it  really  be  so  ?  He,  Lester  Kane,  ten  thousand  a 
year,  for  only  three  years,  and  then  longer  only  on  con- 
dition that  he  married  Jennie!  "Ten  thousand  a  year," 
he  thought,  "and  that  for  three  years!  Good  Lord! 
Any  smart  clerk  can  earn  that.  To  think  he  should  have 
done  that  to  me!" 

296 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THIS  attempt  at  coercion  was  the  one  thing  which 
would  definitely  set  Lester  in  opposition  to  his 
family,  at  least  for  the  time  being.  He  had  realized 
clearly  enough  of  late  that  he  had  made  a  big  mistake; 
first  in  not  having  married  Jennie,  thus  avoiding  scandal; 
and  in  the  second  place  in  not  having  accepted  her 
proposition  at  the  time  when  she  wanted  to  leave  him; 
There  were  no  two  ways  about  it,  he  had  made  a  mess  of 
this  business.  He  could  not  afford  to  lose  his  fortune 
entirely.  He  did  not  have  enough  money  of  his  own. 
Jennie  was  unhappy,  he  could  see  that.  Why  shouldn't 
she  be  ?  He  was  unhappy.  Did  he  want  to  accept  the 
shabby  ten  thousand  a  year,  even  if  he  were  willing  to 
marry  her?  Finally,  did  he  want  to  lose  Jennie,  to  have 
her  go  out  of  his  life  once  and  for  all?  He  could  not 
make  up  his  mind;  the  problem  was  too  complicated. 

When  Lester  returned  to  his  home,  after  the  funeral, 
Jennie  saw  at  once  that  something  was  amiss  with  him, 
something  beyond  a  son's  natural  grief  for  his  father's 
death  was  weighing  upon  his  spirits.  What  was  it,  she 
wondered.  She  tried  to  draw  near  to  him  sympathetic- 
ally, but  his  wounded  spirit  could  not  be  healed  so 
easily.  When  hurt  in  his  pride  he  was  savage  and  sullen 
— he  could  have  struck  any  man  who  irritated  him. 
She  watched  him  interestedly,  wishing  to  do  something 
for  him,  but  he  would  not  give  her  his  confidence.  He 
grieved,  and  she  could  only  grieve  with  him. 

Days  passed,  and  now  the  financial  situation  which 
had  been  created  by  his  father's  death  came  up  for  care- 

297 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

ful  consideration.  The  factory  management  had  to  be 
reorganized.  Robert  would  have  to  be  made  president, 
as  his  father  wished.  Lester's  own  relationship  to  the 
business  would  have  to  come  up  for  adjudication.  Un- 
less he  changed  his  mind  about  Jennie,  he  was  not  a 
stockholder.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  not  anything. 
To  continue  to  be  secretary  and  treasurer,  it  was  neces- 
sary that  he  should  own  at  least  one  share  of  the  com- 
pany's stock.  Would  Robert  give  him  any?  Would 
Amy,  Louise,  or  Imogene?  Would  they  sell  him  any? 
Would  the  other  members  of  the  family  care  to  do  any- 
thing which  would  infringe  on  Robert's  prerogatives 
under  the  will?  They  were  all  rather  unfriendly  to 
Lester  at  present,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  facing  a 
ticklish  situation.  The  solution  was — to  get  rid  of 
Jennie.  If  he  did  that  he  would  not  need  to  be  begging 
for  stock.  If  he  didn't,  he  was  flying  in  the  face  of  his 
father's  last  will  and  testament.  He  turned  the  matter 
over  in  his  mind  slowly  and  deliberately.  He  could 
quite  see  how  things  were  coming  out.  He  must  aban- 
don either  Jennie  or  his  prospects  in  life.  What  a 
dilemma ! 

Despite  Robert's  assertion,  that  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned another  arrangement  would  have  been  satis- 
factory, he  was  really  very  well  pleased  with  the  situa- 
tion; his  dreams  were  slowly  nearing  completion.  Rob- 
ert had  long  had  his  plans  perfected,  not  only  for  a 
thorough  reorganization  of  the  company  proper,  but  for 
an  extension  of  the  business  in  the  direction  of  a  com- 
bination of  carriage  companies.  If  he  could  get  two  or 
three  of  the  larger  organizations  in  the  East  and  West 
to  join  with  him,  selling  costs  could  be  reduced,  over- 
production would  be  avoided,  and  the  general  expenses 
could  be  materially  scaled  down.  Through  a  New.  York 
representative,  he  had  been  picking  up  stock  in  outside 
carriage  companies  for  some  time  and  he  was  almost 
ready  to  act.  In  the  first  place  he  would  have  himself 

298 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

elected  president  of  the  Kane  Company,  and  since  Lester 
was  no  longer  a  factor,  he  could  select  Amy's  husband 
as  vice-president,  and  possibly  some  one  other  than 
Lester  as  secretary  and  treasurer.  Under  the  conditions 
of  the  will,  the  stock  and  other  properties  set  aside  tem- 
porarily for  Lester,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  come  to  his 
senses,  were  to  be  managed  and  voted  by  Robert.  His 
father  had  meant,  obviously,  that  he,  Robert,  should  help 
him  coerce  his  brother.  He  did  not  want  to  appear 
mean,  but  this  was  such  an  easy  way.  It  gave  him  a 
righteous  duty  to  perform.  Lester  must  come  to  his 
senses  or  he  must  let  Robert  run  the  business  to  suit 
himself. 

Lester,  attending  to  his  branch  duties  in  Chicago, 
foresaw  the  drift  of  things.  He  realized  now  that  he 
was  permanently  out  of  the  company,  a  branch  manager 
at  his  brother's  sufferance,  and  the  thought  irritated 
him  greatly.  Nothing  had  been  said  by  Robert  to  indi- 
cate that  such  a  change  had  taken  place — things  went 
on  very  much  as  before — but  Robert's  suggestions  were 
now  obviously  law.  Lester  was  really  his  brother's 
employe  at  so  much  a  year.  It  sickened  his  soul. 

There  came  a  time,  after  a  few  weeks,  when  he  felt  as 
if  he  could  not  stand  this  any  longer.  Hitherto  he  had 
been  a  free  and  independent  agent.  The  approaching 
annual  stockholder's  meeting  which  hitherto  had  been 
a  one-man  affair  and  a  formality,  his  father  doing  all  the 
voting,  would  be  now  a  combination  of  voters,  his  bro- 
ther presiding,  his  sisters  very  likely  represented  by  their 
husbands,  and  he  not  there  at  all.  It  was  going  to  be 
a  great  come-down,  but  as  Robert  had  not  said  anything 
about  offering  to  give  or  sell  him  any  stock  which  would 
entitle  him  to  sit  as  a  director  or  hold  any  official  posi- 
tion in  the  company,  he  decided  to  write  and  resign. 
That  would  bring  matters  to  a  crisis.  It  would  show 
his  brother  that  he  felt  no  desire  to  be  under  obliga- 
tions to  him  in  any  way  or  to  retain  anything  which 

299 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

was  not  his — and  gladly  so — by  right  of  ability  and  the 
desire  of  those  with  whom  he  was  associated.  If  he 
wanted  to  move  back  into  the  company  by  deserting 
Jennie  he  would  come  in  a  very  different  capacity  from 
that  of  branch  manager.  He  dictated  a  simple,  straight- 
forward business  letter,  saying : 

"DEAR  ROBERT, — I  know  the  time  is  drawing  near  when 
the  company  must  be  reorganized  under  your  direction. 
Not  having  any  stock,  I  am  not  entitled  to  sit  as  a  direct- 
or, or  to  hold  the  joint  position  of  secretary  and  trea- 
surer. I  want  you  to  accept  this  letter  as  formal  notice 
of  my  resignation  from  both  positions,  and  I  want  to 
have  your  directors  consider  what  disposition  should  be 
made  of  this  position  and  my  services.  I  am  not  anxious 
to  retain  the  branch-managership  as  a  branch-manager- 
ship merely;  at  the  same  time  I  do  not  want  to  do  any- 
thing which  will  embarrass  you  in  your  plans  for  the 
future.  You  see  by  this  that  I  am  not  ready  to  accept 
the  proposition  laid  down  in  father's  will — at  least,  not 
at  present.  I  would  like  a  definite  understanding  of 
how  you  feel  in  this  matter.  Will  you  write  and  let  me 
know? 

"Yours, 

"LESTER." 

Robert,  sitting  in  his  office  at  Cincinnati,  considered 
this  letter  gravely.  It  was  like  his  brother  to  come 
down  to  "brass  tacks."  If  Lester  were  only  as  cautious 
as  he  was  straightforward  and  direct,  what  a  man  he 
would  be !  But  there  was  no  guile  in  the  man — no  subt- 
lety. He  would  never  do  a. snaky  thing — and  Robert 
knew,  in  his  own  soul,  that  to  succeed  greatly  one  must. 
"You  have  to  be  ruthless  at  times — you  have  to  be 
subtle,"  Robert  would  say  to  himself.  "Why  not  face 
the  facts  to  yourself  when  you  are  playing  for  big  stakes?" 
He  would,  for  one,  and  he  did. 

300 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Robert  felt  that  although  Lester  was  a  tremendously 
decent  fellow  and  his  brother,  he  wasn't  pliable  enough 
to  suit  his  needs.  He  was  too  outspoken,  too  inclined 
to  take  issue.  If  Lester  yielded  to  his  father's  wishes, 
and  took  possession  of  his  share  of  the  estate,  he  would 
become,  necessarily,  an  active  partner  in  the  affairs  of 
the  company.  Lester  would  be  a  barrier  in  Robert's 
path.  Did  Robert  want  this?  Decidedly  he  did  not. 
He  much  preferred  that  Lester  should  hold  fast  to  Jen- 
nie, for  the  present  at  least,  and  so  be  quietly  shelved 
by  his  own  act. 

After  long  consideration,  Robert  dictated  a  politic 
letter.  He  hadn't  made  up  his  mind  yet  just  what  he 
wanted  to  do.  He  did  not  know  what  his  sisters'  hus- 
bands would  like.  A  consultation  would  have  to  be 
held.  For  his  part,  he  would  be  very  glad  to  have  Lester 
remain  as  secretary  and  treasurer,  if  it  could  be  arranged. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  let  the  matter  rest  for  the 
present. 

Lester  cursed.  What  did  Robert  mean  by  beating 
around  the  bush?  He  knew  well  enough  how  it  could 
be  arranged.  One  share  of  stock  would  be  enough  for 
Lester  to  qualify.  Robert  was  afraid  of  him — that  was 
the  basic  fact.  Well,  he  would  not  retain  any  branch- 
managership,  depend  on  that.  He  would  resign  at 
once.  Lester  accordingly  wrote  back,  saying  that  he  had 
considered  all  sides,  and  had  decided  to  look  after  some 
interests  of  his  own,  for  the  time  being.  If  Robert  could 
arrange  it,  he  would  like  to  have  some  one  come  on  to 
Chicago  and  take  over  the  branch  agency.  Thirty  days 
would  be  time  enough.  In  a  few  days  came  a  regretful 
reply,  saying  that  Robert  was  awfully  sorry,  but  that  if 
Lester  was  determined  he  did  not  want  to  interfere  with 
any  plans  he  might  have  in  view.  Imogene's  husband, 
Jefferson  Midgely,  had  long  thought  he  would  like  to 
reside  in  Chicago.  He  could  undertake  the  work  for  the 
time  being. 

301 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Lester  smiled.  Evidently  Robert  was  making  the 
best  of  a  very  subtle  situation.  Robert  knew  that  he, 
Lester,  could  sue  and  tie  things  up,  and  also  that  he 
would  be  very  loath  to  do  so.  The  newspapers  would 
get  hold  of  the  whole  story.  This  matter  of  his  relation- 
ship to  Jennie  was  in  the  air,  anyhow.  He  could  best 
solve  the  problem  by  leaving  her.  So  it  all  came  back 
to  that. 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

FOR  a  man  of  Lester's  years — he  was  now  forty-six — • 
to  be  tossed  out  in  the  world  without  a  definite 
connection,  even  though  he  did  have  a  present  income 
(including  this  new  ten  thousand)  of  fifteen  thousand  a 
year,  was  a  disturbing  and  discouraging  thing.  He 
realized  now  that,  unless  he  made  some  very  fortunate 
and  profitable  arrangements  in  the  near  future,  his 
career  was  virtually  at  an  end.  Of  course  he  could 
marry  Jennie.  That  would  give  him  the  ten  thousand 
for  the  rest  of  his  life,  but  it  would  also  end  his  chance  of 
getting  his  legitimate  share  of  the  Kane  estate.  Again, 
he  might  sell  out  the  seventy-five  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  moderate  interest-bearing  stocks,  which  now  yielded 
him  about  five  thousand,  and  try  a  practical  investment 
of  some  kind — say  a  rival  carriage  company.  But  did 
he  want  to  jump  in,  at  this  stage  of  the  game,  and  begin 
a  running  fight  on  his  father's  old  organization?  More- 
over, it  would  be  a  hard  row  to  hoe.  There  was  the 
keenest  rivalry  for  business  as  it  was,  with  the  Kane 
Company  very  much  in  the  lead.  Lester's  only  available 
capital  was  his  seventy-five  thousand  dollars.  Did  he 
want  to  begin  in  a  picayune,  obscure  way?  It  took 
money  to  get  a  foothold  in  the  carriage  business  as  things 
were  now. 

The  trouble  with  Lester  was  that,  while  blessed  with  a 
fine  imagination  and  considerable  insight,  he  lacked  the 
ruthless,  narrow-minded  insistence  on  his  individual 
superiority  which  is  a  necessary  element  in  almost  every 
great  business  success.  To  be  a  forceful  figure  in  the 

303 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

business  world  means,  as  a  rule,  that  you  must  be  an 
individual  of  one  idea,  and  that  idea  the  God-given  one 
that  life  has  destined  you  for  a  tremendous  future  in  the 
particular  field  you  have  chosen.  It  means  that  one 
thing,  a  cake  of  soap,  a  new  can-opener,  a  safety  razor,  or 
speed-accelerator,  must  seize  on  your  imagination  with 
tremendous  force,  burn  as  a  raging  flame,  and  make  itself 
the  be-all  and  end-all  of  your  existence.  As  a  rule,  a 
man  needs  poverty  to  help  him  to  this  enthusiasm,  and 
youth.  The  thing  he  has  discovered,  and  with  which  he 
is  going  to  busy  himself,  must  be  the  door  to  a  thousand 
opportunities  and  a  thousand  joys.  Happiness  must  be 
beyond  or  the  fire  will  not  burn  as  brightly  as  it  might — 
the  urge  will  not  be  great  enough  to  make  a  great  success. 

Lester  did  not  possess  this  indispensable  quality  of 
enthusiasm.  Life  had  already  shown  him  the  greater 
part  of  its  so-called  joys.  He  saw  through  the  illusions 
that  are  so  often  and  so  noisily  labeled  pleasure.  Money, 
of  course,  was  essential,  and  he  had  already  had  money — 
enough  to  keep  him  comfortably.  Did  he  want  to  risk 
it?  He  looked  about  him  thoughtfully.  Perhaps  he 
did.  Certainly  he  could  not  comfortably  contemplate 
the  thought  of  sitting  by  and  watching  other  people 
work  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

In  the  end  he  decided  that  he  would  bestir  himself  and 
look  into  things.  He  was,  as  he  said  to  himself,  in  no 
hurry;  he  was  not  going  to  make  a  mistake.  He  would 
first  give  the  trade,  the  people  who  were  identified  with 
vhe  manufacture  and  sale  of  carriages,  time  to  realize 
that  he  was  out  of  the  Kane  Company,  for  the  time  being, 
anyhow,  and  open  to  other  connections.  So  he  an- 
nounced that  he  was  leaving  the  Kane  Company  and 
going  to  Europe,  ostensibly  for  a  rest.  He  had  never 
been  abroad,  and  Jennie,  too,  would  enjoy  it.  Vesta 
could  be  left  at  home  with  Gerhardt  and  a  maid,  and  he 
and  Jennie  would  travel  around  a  bit,  seeing  what 
Europe  had  to  show.  He  wanted  to  visit  Venice  and 

3°4 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Baden-Baden,  and  the  great  watering-places  that  had 
been  recommended  to  him.  Cairo  and  Luxor  and  the 
Parthenon  had  always  appealed  to  his  imagination. 
After  he  had  had  his  outing  he  could  come  back  and 
seriously  gather  up  the  threads  of  his  intentions. 

The  spring  after  his  father  died,  he  put  his  plan  into 
execution.  He  had  wound  up  the  work  of  the  ware- 
rooms  and  with  a  pleasant  deliberation  had  studied  out 
a  tour.  He  made  Jennie  his  confidante,  and  now,  hav- 
ing gathered  together  their  traveling  comforts  they 
took  a  steamer  from  New  York  to  Liverpool.  After  a 
few  weeks  in  the  British  Isles  they  went  to  Egypt. 
From  there  they  came  back,  through  Greece  and  Italy, 
into  Austria  and  Switzerland,  and  then  later,  through 
France  and  Paris,  to  Germany  and  Berlin.  Lester  was 
diverted  by  the  novelty  of  the  experience  and  yet  he 
had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he  was  wasting  his 
time.  Great  business  enterprises  were  not  built  by 
travelers,  and  he  was  not  looking  for  health. 

Jennie,  on  the  other  hand,  was  transported  by  what 
she  saw,  and  enjoyed  the  new  life  to  the  full.  Before 
Luxor  and  Karnak — places  which  Jennie  had  never 
dreamed  existed — she  learned  of  an  older  civilization, 
powerful,  complex,  complete.  Millions  of  people  had 
lived  and  died  here,  believing  in  other  gods,  other  forms 
of  government,  other  conditions  of  existence.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  Jennie  gained  a  clear  idea  of  how  vast 
the  world  is.  Now  from  this  point  of  view — of  decayed 
Greece,  of  fallen  Rome,  of  forgotten  Egypt,  she  saw  how 
pointless  are  our  minor  difficulties,  our  minor  beliefs. 
Her  father's  Lutheranism — it  did  not  seem  so  significant 
any  more;  and  the  social  economy  of  Columbus,  Ohio — 
rather  pointless,  perhaps.  Her  mother  had  worried  so 
of  what  people — her  neighbors — thought,  but  here  were 
dead  worlds  of  people,  some  bad,  some  good.  Lester 
explained  that  their  differences  in  standards  of  morals 
were  due  sometimes  to  climate,  sometimes  to  religious 

3°S 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

beliefs,  and  sometimes  to  the  rise  of  peculiar  personalities 
like  Mohammed.  Lester  liked  to  point  out  how  small 
conventions  bulked  in  this,  the  larger  world,  and  vaguely 
she  began  to  see.  Admitting  that  she  had  been  bad — 
locally  it  was  important,  perhaps,  but  in  the  sum  of 
civilization,  in  the  sum  of  big  forces,  what  did  it  all 
amount  to  ?  They  would  be  dead  after  a  little  while,  she 
and  Lester  and  all  these  people.  Did  anything  matter 
except  goodness — goodness  of  heart?  What  else  was 
there  that  was  real  ? 


CHAPTER   XLV 

IT  was  while  traveling  abroad  that  Lester  came 
across,  first  at  the  Carlton  in  London  and  later  at 
Shepheards  in  Cairo,  the  one  girl,  before  Jennie,  whom  it 
might  have  been  said  he  truly  admired — Letty  Pace. 
He  had  not  seen  her  for  a  long  time,  and  she  had  been 
Mrs.  Malcolm  Gerald  for  nearly  four  years,  and  a  charm- 
ing widow  for  nearly  two  years  more.  Malcolm  Gerald 
had  been  a  wealthy  man,  having  amassed  a  fortune  in 
banking  and  stock-brokering  in  Cincinnati,  and  he  had  left 
Mrs.  Malcolm  Gerald  very  well  off.  She  was  the  mother 
of  one  child,  a  little  girl,  who  was  safely  in  charge  of  a 
nurse  and  maid  at  all  times,  and  she  was  invariably  the 
picturesque  center  of  a  group  of  admirers  recruited  from 
every  capital  of  the  civilized  world.  Letty  Gerald  was  a 
talented  woman,  beautiful,  graceful,  artistic,  a  writer  of 
verse,  an  omnivorous  reader,  a  student  of  art,  and  a 
sincere  and  ardent  admirer  of  Lester  Kane. 

In  her  day  she  had  truly  loved  him,  for  she  had  been  a 
wise  observer  of  men  and  affairs,  and  Lester  had  always 
appealed  to  her  as  a  real  man.  He  was  so  sane,  she 
thought,  so  calm.  He  was  always  intolerant  of  sham, 
and  she  liked  him  for  it.  He  was  inclined  to  wave  aside 
the  petty  little  frivolities  of  common  society  conversa- 
tion, and  to  talk  of  simple  and  homely  things.  Many 
and  many  a  time,  in  years  past,  they  had  deserted  a 
dance  to  sit  out  on  a  balcony  somewhere,  and  talk  while 
Lester  smoked.  He  had  argued  philosophy  with  her, 
discussed  books,  described  political  and  social  conditions 
in  other  cities — in  a  word,  he  had  treated  her  like  a  sensi- 
21  3°7 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

ble  human  being,  and  she  had  hoped  and  hoped  and 
hoped  that  he  would  propose  to  her.  More  than  once 
she  had  looked  at  his  big,  solid  head  with  its  short  growth 
of  hardy  brown  hair,  and  wished  that  she  could  stroke  it. 
It  was  a  hard  blow  to  her  when  he  finally  moved  away 
to  Chicago;  at  that  time  she  knew  nothing  of  Jennie,  but 
she  felt  instinctively  that  her  chance  of  winning  him  was 
gone. 

Then  Malcolm  Gerald,  always  an  ardent  admirer, 
proposed  for  something  like  the  sixty-fifth  time,  and  she 
took  him.  She  did  not  love  him,  but  she  was  getting 
along,  and  she  had  to  marry  some  one.  He  was  forty- 
four  when  he  married  her,  and  he  lived  only  four  years — 
just  long  enough  to  realize  that  he  had  married  a  charm- 
ing, tolerant,  broad-minded  woman.  Then  he  died  of 
pneumonia  and  Mrs.  Gerald  was  a  rich  widow,  sympa- 
thetic, attractive,  delightful  in  her  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  with  nothing  to  do  except  to  live  and  to 
spend  her  money. 

She  was  not  inclined  to  do  either  indifferently.  She 
had  long  since  had  her  ideal  of  a  man  established  by 
Lester.  These  whipper-snappers  of  counts,  earls,  lords, 
barons,  whom  she  met  in  one  social  world  and  another 
(for  her  friendship  and  connections  had  broadened  not- 
ably with  the  years),  did  not  interest  her  a  particle.  She 
was  terribly  weary  of  the  superficial  veneer  of  the  titled 
fortune-hunter  whom  she  met  abroad.  A  good  judge  of 
character,  a  student  of  men  and  manners,  a  natural 
reasoner  along  sociologic  and  psychologic  lines,  she  saw 
through  them  and  through  the  civilization  which  they 
represented.  "I  could  have  been  happy  in  a  cottage 
with  a  man  I  once  knew  out  in  Cincinnati,"  she  told  one 
of  her  titled  women  friends  who  had  been  an  American 
before  her  marriage.  "  He  was  the  biggest,  cleanest,  san- 
est fellow.  If  he  had  proposed  to  me  I  would  have 
married  him  if  I  had  had  to  work  for  a  living  myself." 

"Was  he  so  poor?"  asked  her  friend. 
308 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Indeed  he  wasn't.  He  was  comfortably  rich,  but 
that  did  not  make  any  difference  to  me.  It  was  the 
man  I  wanted." 

"It  would  have  made  a  difference  in  the  long  run," 
said  the  other. 

"You  misjudge  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Gerald.  "I  waited 
for  him  for  a  number  of  years,  and  I  know." 

Lester  had  always  retained  pleasant  impressions  and 
kindly  memories  of  Letty  Pace,  or  Mrs.  Gerald,  as  she 
was  now.  He  had  been  fond  of  her  in  a  way,  very  fond. 
Why  hadn't  he  married  her  ?  He  had  asked  himself  that 
question  time  and  again.  She  would  have  made  him  an 
ideal  wife,  his  father  would  have  been  pleased,  every- 
body would  have  been  delighted.  Instead  he  had 
drifted  and  drifted,  and  then  he  had  met  Jennie;  and 
somehow,  after  that,  he  did  not  want  her  any  more. 
Now  after  six  years  of  separation  he  met  her  again.  He 
knew  she  was  married.  She  was  vaguely  aware  he  had 
had  some  sort  of  an  affair — she  had  heard  that  he  had 
subsequently  married  the  woman  and  was  living  on  the 
South  Side.  She  did  not  know  of  the  loss  of  his  fortune. 
She  ran  across  him  first  in  the  Carlton  one  June  evening. 
The  windows  were  open,  and  the  flowers  were  blooming 
everywhere,  odorous  with  that  sense  of  new  life  in  the 
air  which  runs  through  the  world  when  spring  comes 
back.  For  the  moment  she  was  a  little  beside  herself. 
Something  choked  in  her  throat;  but  she  collected  her- 
self and  extended  a  graceful  arm  and  hand. 

"Why,  Lester  Kane,"  she  exclaimed.  "How  do  you 
do !  I  am  so  glad.  And  this  is  Mrs.  Kane  ?  Charmed, 
I'm  sure.  It  seems  truly  like  a  breath  of  spring  to  see 
you  again.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Kane,  but  I'm 
delighted  to  see  your  husband.  I'm  ashamed  to  say  how 
many  years  it  is,  Lester,  since  I  saw  you  last!  I  feel 
quite  old  when  I  think  of  it.  Why,  Lester,  think;  it's 
been  all  of  six  or  seven  years!  And  I've  been  married 
and  had  a  child,  and  poor  Mr.  Gerald  has  died,  and 

309 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

oh,  dear,  I  don't  know  what  all  hasn't  happened  to 
me." 

"  You  don't  look  it,"  commented  Lester,  smiling.  He 
was  pleased  to  see  her  again,  for  they  had  been  good 
friends.  She  liked  him  still — that  was  evident,  and  he 
truly  liked  her. 

Jennie  smiled.  She  was  glad  to  see  this  old  friend  of 
Lester's.  This  woman,  trailing  a  magnificent  yellow 
lace  train  over  pale,  mother-of-pearl  satin,  her  round, 
smooth  arms  bare  to  the  shoulder,  her  corsage  cut  low 
and  a  dark  red  rose  blowing  at  her  waist,  seemed  to  her 
the  ideal  of  what  a  woman  should  be.  She  liked  looking 
at  lovely  women  quite  as  much  as  Lester;  she  enjoyed 
calling  his  attention  to  them,  and  teasing  him,  in  the 
mildest  way,  about  their  charms.  "Wouldn't  you  like 
to  run  and  talk  to  her,  Lester,  instead  of  to  me?"  she 
would  ask  when  some  particularly  striking  or  beautiful 
woman  chanced  to  attract  her  attention.  Lester  would 
examine  her  choice  critically,  for  he  had  come  to  know 
that  her  judge  of  feminine  charms  was  excellent.  "Oh, 
I'm  pretty  well  off  where  I  am,"  he  would  retort,  looking 
into  her  eyes;  or,  jestingly,  "I'm  not  as  young  as  I 
used  to  be,  or  I'd  get  in  tow  of  that." 

"  Run  on,"  was  her  comment.     "  I'll  wait  for  you." 

"What  would  you  do  if  I  really  should?" 

"Why,  Lester,  I  wouldn't  do  anything.  You'd  come 
back  to  me,  maybe." 

"Wouldn't  you  care?" 

"  You  know  I'd  care.  But  if  you  felt  that  you  wanted 
to,  I  wouldn't  try  to  stop  you.  I  wouldn't  expect  to  be 
all  in  all  to  one  man,  unless  he  wanted  me  to  be." 

"Where  do  you  get  those  ideas,  Jennie?"  he  asked  her 
once,  curious  to  test  the  breadth  of  her  philosophy. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  why?" 

"They're  so  broad,  so  good-natured,  so  charitable. 
They're  not  common,  that's  sure." 

"Why,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  be  selfish,  Lester. 
310 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

I  don't  know  why.  Some  women  think  differently,  I 
know,  but  a  man  and  a  woman  ought  to  want  to  live  to- 
gether, or  they  ought  not  to — don't  you  think?  It 
doesn't  make  so  much  difference  if  a  man  goes  off  for  a 
little  while — just  so  long  as  he  doesn't  stay — if  he  wants 
to  come  back  at  all." 

Lester  smiled,  but  he  respected  her  for  the  sweetness 
of  her  point  of  view — he  had  to. 

To-night,  when  she  saw  this  woman  so  eager  to  talk  to 
Lester,  she  realized  at  once  that  they  must  have  a  great 
deal  in  common  to  talk  over;  whereupon  she  did  a 
characteristic  thing.  "Won't  you  excuse  me  for  a  little 
while  ?"  she  asked,  smiling.  "  I  left  some  things  uncared 
for  in  our  rooms.  I'll  be  back." 

She  went  away,  remaining  in  her  room  as  long  as  she 
reasonably  could,  and  Lester  and  Letty  fell  to  discussing 
old  times  in  earnest.  He  recounted  as  much  of  his 
experiences  as  he  deemed  wise,  and  Letty  brought  the 
history  of  her  life  up  to  date.  "Now  that  you're  safely 
married,  Lester,"  she  said  daringly,  "I'll  confess  to  you 
that  you  were  the  one  man  I  always  wanted  to  have  pro- 
pose to  me — and  you  never  did." 

"Maybe  I  never  dared,"  he  said,  gazing  into  her 
superb  black  eyes,  and  thinking  that  perhaps  she  might 
know  that  he  was  not  married.  He  felt  that  she  had 
grown  more  beautiful  in  every  way.  She  seemed  to  him 
now  to  be  an  ideal  society  figure — perfection  itself — 
gracious,  natural,  witty,  the  type  of  woman  who  mixes 
and  mingles  well,  meeting  each  new-comer  upon  the  plane 
best  suited  to  him  or  her. 

"Yes,  you  thought!  I  know  what  you  thought. 
Your  real  thought  just  left  the  table." 

"Tut,  tut,  my  dear.  Not  so  fast.  You  don't  know 
what  I  thought." 

"Anyhow,  I  allow  you  some  credit.     She's  charming." 

"Jennie  has  her  good  points,"  he  replied  simply. 

"And  are  you  happy?" 

3" 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

"Oh,  fairly  so.  Yes,  I  suppose  I'm  happy — as  happy 
as  any  one  can  be  who  sees  life  as  it  is.  You  know  I'm 
not  troubled  with  many  illusions." 

"Not  any,  I  think,  kind  sir,  if  I  know  you." 

"Very  likely,  not  any,  Letty;  but  sometimes  I  wish  I 
had  a  few.  I  think  I  would  be  happier." 

"And  I,  too,  Lester.  Really,  I  look  on  my  life  as  a 
kind  of  failure,  you  know,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I'm 
almost  as  rich  as  Croesus — not  quite.  I  think  he  had 
some  more  than  I  have." 

"What  talk  from  you — you,  with  your  beauty  and 
talent,  and  money — good  heavens!" 

"And  what  can  I  do  with  it?  Travel,  talk,  shoo  away 
silly  fortune-hunters.  Oh,  dear,  sometimes  I  get  so 
tired!" 

Letty  looked  at  Lester.  In  spite  of  Jennie,  the  old 
feeling  came  back.  Why  should  she  have  been  cheated 
of  him?  They  were  as  comfortable  together  as  old 
married  people,  or  young  lovers.  Jennie  had  had  no 
better  claim.  She  looked  at  him,  and  her  eyes  fairly 
spoke.  He  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"  Here  conies  my  wife,"  he  said.  "  We'll  have  to  brace 
up  and  talk  of  other  things.  You'll  find  her  interesting 
—really." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  replied,  and  turned  on  Jennie  a 
radiant  smile. 

Jennie  felt  a  faint  sense  of  misgiving.  She  thought 
vaguely  that  this  might  be  one  of  Lester's  old  flames. 
This  was  the  kind  of  woman  he  should  have  chosen — not 
her.  She  was  suited  to  his  station  in  life,  and  he  would 
have  been  as  happy — perhaps  happier.  Was  he  begin- 
ning to  realize  it  ?  Then  she  put  away  the  uncomfortable 
thought;  pretty  soon  she  would  be  getting  jealous,  and 
that  would  be  contemptible. 

Mrs.  Gerald  continued  to  be  most  agreeable  in  her 
attitude  toward  the  Kanes.  She  invited  them  the  next 
day  to  join  her  on  a  drive  through  Rotten  Row  There 

312 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

was  a  dinner  later  at  Claridge's,  and  then  she  was  corn* 
pelled  to  keep  some  engagement  which  was  taking  her  to 
Paris.  She  bade  them  both  an  affectionate  farewell,  and 
hoped  that  they  would  soon  meet  again.  She  was 
envious,  in  a  sad  way,  of  Jennie's  good  fortune.  Lester 
had  lost  none  of  his  charm  for  her.  If  anything,  he 
seemed  nicer,  more  considerate,  more  wholesome.  She 
wished  sincerely  that  he  were  free.  And  Lester — sub- 
consciously perhaps — was  thinking  the  same  thing. 

No  doubt  because  of  the  fact  that  she  was  thinking  of 
it,  he  had  been  led  over  mentally  all  of  the  things  which 
might  have  happened  if  he  had  married  her.  They 
were  so  congenial  now,  philosophically,  artistically, 
practically.  There  was  a  natural  flow  of  conversation 
between  them  all  the  time,  like  two  old  comrades  among 
men.  She  knew  everybody  in  his  social  sphere,  which 
was  equally  hers,  but  Jennie  did  not.  They  could  talk 
of  certain  subtle  characteristics  of  life  in  a  way  which 
was  not  possible  between  him  and  Jennie,  for  the  latter 
did  not  have  the  vocabulary.  Her  ideas  did  not  flow 
as  fast  as  those  of  Mrs.  Gerald.  Jennie  had  actually  the 
deeper,  more  comprehensive,  sympathetic,  and  emotional 
note  in  her  nature,  but  she  could  not  show  it  in  light 
conversation.  Actually  she  was  living  the  thing  she  was, 
and  that  was  perhaps  the  thing  which  drew  Lester  to  her. 
Just  now,  and  often  in  situations  of  this  kind,  she  seemed 
at  a  disadvantage,  and  she  was.  It  seemed  to  Lester  for 
the  time  being  as  if  Mrs.  Gerald  would  perhaps  have 
been  a  better  choice  after  all — certainly  as  good,  and  he 
would  not  now  have  this  distressing  thought  as  to  his 
future. 

They  did  not  see  Mrs.  Gerald  again  until  they  reached 
Cairo.  In  the  gardens  about  the  hotel  they  suddenly 
encountered  her,  or  rather  Lester  did,  for  he  was  alone  at 
the  time,  strolling  and  smoking. 

"Well,  this  is  good  luck,"  he  exclaimed.  "Where  do 
you  come  from?" 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"Madrid,  if  you  please.  I  didn't  know  I  was  coming 
until  last  Thursday.  The  Ellicotts  are  here.  I  came 
over  with  them.  You  know  I  wondered  where  you 
might  be.  Then  I  remembered  that  you  said  you  were 
going  to  Egypt.  Where  is  your  wife?" 

"In  her  bath,  I  fancy,  at  this  moment.  This  warm 
weather  makes  Jennie  take  to  water.  I  was  thinking  of 
a  plunge  myself." 

They  strolled  about  for  a  time.  Letty  was  in  light 
blue  silk,  with  a  blue  and  white  parasol  held  daintily 
over  her  shoulder,  and  looked  very  pretty.  "Oh,  dear!" 
she  suddenly  ejaculated,  "I  wonder  sometimes  what  I 
am  to  do  with  myself.  I  can't  loaf  always  this  way.  I 
think  I'll  go  back  to  the  States  to  live." 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"What  good  would  it  do  me?  I  don't  want  to  get 
married.  I  haven't  any  one  to  marry  now — that  I 
want."  She  glanced  at  Lester  significantly,  then  looked 
away. 

"Oh,  you'll  find  some  one  eventually,"  he  said,  some- 
what awkwardly.  "You  can't  escape  for  long — not 
with  your  looks  and  money." 

"Oh,  Lester,  hush!" 

"All  right!  Have  it  otherwise,  if  you  want.  I'm 
telling  you." 

"Do  you  still  dance?"  she  inquired  lightly,  thinking  of 
a  ball  which  was  to  be  given  at  the  hotel  that  evening. 
He  had  danced  so  well  a  few  years  before. 

"Do  I  look  it?" 

"  Now,  Lester,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
gone  and  abandoned  that  last  charming  art.  I  still 
love  to  dance.  Doesn't  Mrs.  Kane  ?" 

"No,  she  doesn't  care  to.  At  least  she  hasn't  taken  it 
up.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  suppose  that  is  my  fault. 
I  have'nt  thought  of  dancing  in  some  time." 

It  occurred  to  him  that  he  hadn't  been  going  to  func- 
tions of  any  kind  much  for  some  time.  The  opposition 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

his  entanglement  had  generated  had  put  a  stop  to 
that. 

"Come  and  dance  with  me  to-night.  Your  wife 
won't  object.  It's  a  splendid  floor.  I  saw  it  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  I'll  have  to  think  about  that,"  replied  Lester.  "  I'm 
not  much  in  practice.  Dancing  will  probably  go  hard 
with  me  at  my  time  of  life." 

"Oh,  hush,  Lester,"  replied  Mrs.  Gerald.  "You 
make  me  feel  old.  Don't  talk  so  sedately.  Mercy 
alive,  you'd  think  you  were  an  old  man!" 

"I  am  in  experience,  my  dear." 

"Pshaw,  that  simply  makes  us  more  attract! vs," 
replied  his  old  flame. 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

THAT  night  after  dinner  the  music  was  already 
sounding  in  the  ball-room  of  the  great  hotel  adja- 
cent to  the  palm-gardens  when  Mrs.  Gerald  found  Lester 
smoking  on  one  of  the  verandas  with  Jennie  by  his  side. 
The  latter  was  in  white  satin  and  white  slippers,  her 
hair  lying  a  heavy,  enticing  mass  about  her  forehead  and 
ears.  Lester  was  brooding  over  the  history  of  Egypt,  its 
successive  tides  or  waves  of  rather  weak-bodied  people; 
the  thin,  narrow  strip  of  soil  along  either  side  of  the  Nile 
that  had  given  these  successive  waves  of  population 
sustenance ;  the  wonder  of  heat  and  tropic  life,  and  this 
hotel  with  its  modern  conveniences  and  fashionable 
crowd  set  down  among  ancient,  soul- weary,  almost 
despairing  conditions.  He  and  Jennie  had  looked  this 
morning  on  the  pyramids.  They  had  taken  a  trolley  to 
the  Sphinx !  They  had  watched  swarms  of  ragged,  half- 
clad,  curiously  costumed  men  and  boys  moving  through 
narrow,  smelly,  albeit  brightly  colored,  lanes  and  alleys. 

"It  all  seems  such  a  mess  to  me,"  Jennie  had  said  at 
one  place.  "They  are  so  dirty  and  oily.  I  like  it,  but 
somehow  they  seem  tangled  up,  like  a  lot  of  worms." 

Lester  chuckled,  "  You're  almost  right.  But  climate 
does  it.  Heat.  The  tropics.  Life  is  always  mushy 
and  sensual  under  these  conditions.  They  can't  help  it." 

"Oh,  I  know  that.  I  don't  blame  them.  They're 
just  queer." 

To-night  he  was  brooding  over  this,  the  moon  shining 
down  into  the  grounds  with  an  exuberant,  sensuous 
luster. 

316 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

"Well,  at  last  I've  found  you!"  Mrs.  Gerald  exclaimed. 
"I  couldn't  get  down  to  dinner,  after  all.  Our  party 
was  so  late  getting  back.  I've  made  your  husband  agree 
to  dance  with  me,  Mrs.  Kane,"  she  went  on  smilingly. 
She,  like  Lester  and  Jennie,  was  under  the  sensuous 
influence  of  the  warmth,  the  spring,  the  moonlight. 
There  were  rich  odors  abroad,  floating  subtly  from 
groves  and  gardens;  from  the  remote  distance  camel- 
bells  were  sounding  and  exotic  cries,  "Ayah!"  and 
"oosh!  oosh!"  as  though  a  drove  of  strange  animals  were 
being  rounded  up  and  driven  through  the  crowded 
streets. 

"  You're  welcome  to  him,"  replied  Jennie  pleasantly. 
"He  ought  to  dance.  I  sometimes  wish  I  did." 

"You  ought  to  take  lessons  right  away  then,"  replied 
Lester  genially.  "I'll  do  my  best  to  keep  you  company. 
I'm  not  as  light  on  my  feet  as  I  was  once,  but  I  guess  I 
can  get  around." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  dance  that  badly,"  smiled  Jennie. 
"  But  you  two  go  on,  I'm  going  up-stairs  in  a  little  while, 
anyway." 

"Why  don't  you  come  sit  in  the  ball-room?  I  can't 
do  more  than  a  few  rounds.  Then  we  can  watch  the 
others,"  said  Lester  rising. 

"No.  I  think  I'll  stay  here.  It's  so  pleasant.  You 
go.  Take  him,  Mrs.  Gerald." 

Lester  and  Letty  strolled  away.  They  made  a  striking 
pair — Mrs.  Gerald  in  dark  wine-colored  silk,  covered 
with  glistening  black  beads,  her  shapely  arms  and  neck 
bare,  and  a  flashing  diamond  of  great  size  set  just  above 
her  forehead  in  her  dark  hair.  Her  lips  were  red,  and 
she  had  an  engaging  smile,  showing  an  even  row  of  white 
teeth  between  wide,  full,  friendly  lips.  Lester's  strong, 
vigorous  figure  was  well  set  off  by  his  evening  clothes, 
he  looked  distinguished. 

"That  is  the  woman  he  should  have  married,"  said 
Jennie  to  herself  as  he  disappeared.  She  fell  into  a 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

reverie,  going  over  the  steps  of  her  past  life.  Sometimes 
it  seemed  to  her  now  as  if  she  had  been  living  in  a  dream. 
At  other  times  she  felt  as  though  she  were  in  that  dream 
yet.  Life  sounded  in  her  ears  much  as  this  night  did. 
She  heard  its  cries.  She  knew  its  large-mass  features. 
But  back  of  it  were  subtleties  that  shaded  and  changed 
one  into  the  other  like  the  shifting  of  dreams.  Why  had 
she  been  so  attractive  to  men?  Why  had  Lester  been 
so  eager  to  follow  her  ?  Could  she  have  prevented  him  ? 
She  thought  of  her  life  in  Columbus,  when  she  carried 
coal;  to-night  she  was  in  Egypt,  at  this  great  hotel,  the 
chatelaine  of  a  suite  of  rooms,  surrounded  by  every 
luxury,  Lester  still  devoted  to  her.  He  had  endured  so 
many  things  for  her!  Why?  Was  she  so  wonderful? 
Brander  had  said  so.  Lester  had  told  her  so.  Still  she 
felt  humble,  out  of  place,  holding  handfuls  of  jewels  that 
did  not  belong  to  her.  Again  she  experienced  that 
peculiar  feeling  which  had  come  over  her  the  first  time 
she  went  to  New  York  with  Lester — namely,  that  this 
fairy  existence  could  not  endure.  Her  life  was  fated. 
Something  would  happen.  She  would  go  back  to  simple 
things,  to  a  side  street,  a  poor  cottage,  to  old  clothes. 

And  then  as  she  thought  of  her  home  in  Chicago,  and 
the  attitude  of  his  friends,  she  knew  it  must  be  so. 
She  would  never  be  received,  even  if  he  married  her. 
And  she  could  understand  why.  She  could  look  into  the 
charming,  smiling  face  of  this  woman  who  was  now  with 
Lester,  and  see  that  she  considered  her  very  nice,  per- 
haps, but  not  of  Lester's  class.  She  was  saying  to  her- 
self now  no  doubt  as  she  danced  with  Lester  that  he 
needed  some  one  like  her.  He  needed  some  one  who  had 
been  raised  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  things  to  which  he 
had  been  accustomed.  He  couldn't  very  well  expect  to 
find  in  her,  Jennie,  the  familiarity  with,  the  appreciation 
of  the  niceties  to,  which  he  had  always  been  accustomed. 
She  understood  what  they  were.  Her  mind  had  awak- 
ened rapidly  to  details  of  furniture,  clothing,  arrange- 

318 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

ment,  decorations,  manner,  forms,  customs,  but — she 
was  not  to  the  manner  born. 

If  she  went  away  Lester  would  return  to  his  old  world, 
the  world  of  the  attractive,  well-bred,  clever  woman 
who  now  hung  upon  his  arm.  The  tears  came  into 
Jennie's  eyes;  she  wished,  for  the  moment,  that  she 
might  die.  It  would  be  better  so.  Meanwhile  Lester 
was  dancing  with  Mrs.  Gerald,  or  sitting  out  between  the 
waltzes  talking  over  old  times,  old  places,  and  old  friends. 
As  he  looked  at  Letty  he  marveled  at  her  youth  and 
beauty.  She  was  more  developed  than  formerly,  but 
still  as  slender  and  shapely  as  Diana.  She  had  strength, 
too,  in  this  smooth  body  of  hers,  and  her  black  eyes  were 
liquid  and  lusterful. 

"I  swear,  Letty,"  he  said  impulsively,  "you're  really 
more  beautiful  than  ever.  You're  exquisite.  You've 
grown  younger  instead  of  older." 

"You  think  so?"  she  smiled,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  You  know  I  do,  or  I  wouldn't  say  so.  I'm  not  much 
on  philandering." 

"Oh,  Lester,  you  bear,  can't  you  allow  a  woman  just  a 
little  coyness?  Don't  you  know  we  all  love  to  sip  our 
praise,  and  not  be  compelled  to  swallow  it  in  one  great 
mouthful?" 

"What's  the  point?"  he  asked.     "What  did  I  say?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  You're  such  a  bear.  You're  such  a 
big,  determined,  straightforward  boy.  But  never  mind. 
I  like  you.  That's  enough,  isn't  it  ?" 

"It  surely  is,"  he  said. 

They  strolled  into  the  garden  as  the  music  ceased,  and 
he  squeezed  her  arm  softly.  He  couldn't  help  it;  she 
made  him  feel  as  if  he  owned  her.  She  wanted  him  to 
feel  that  way.  She  said  to  herself,  as  they  sat  looking 
at  the  lanterns  in  the  gardens,  that  if  ever  he  were  free, 
and  would  come  to  her,  she  would  take  him.  She  was 
almost  ready  to  take  him  anyhow — only  he  probably 
wouldn't.  He  was  so  straight-laced,  so  considerate.  He 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

wouldn't,  like  so  many  other  men  she  knew,  do  a  mean 
thing.  He  couldn't.  Finally  Lester  rose  and  excused 
himself.  He  and  Jennie  were  going  farther  up  the  Nile 
in  the  morning — toward  Karnak  and  Thebes  and  the 
water-washed  temples  at  Phylae.  They  would  have  to 
start  at  an  unearthly  early  hour,  and  he  must  get  to  bed. 

"When  are  you  going  home?"  asked  Mrs.  Gerald, 
ruefully. 

"In  September." 

"Have  you  engaged  your  passage?" 

"Yes;  we  sail  from  Hamburg  on  the  ninth — the 
Fulda." 

"I  may  be  going  back  in  the  fall,"  laughed  Letty. 
"Don't  be  surprised  if  I  crowd  in  on  the  same  boat  with 
you.  I'm  very  unsettled  in  my  mind." 

"Come  along,  for  goodness  sake,"  replied  Lester.  "I 
hope  you  do.  .  .  .  I'll  see  you  to-morrow  before  we 
leave."  He  paused,  and  she  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"Cheer  up,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand.  "You  never 
can  tell  what  life  will  do.  We  sometimes  find  ourselves 
right  when  we  thought  we  were  all  wrong." 

He  was  thinking  that  she  was  sorry  to  lose  him,  and 
he  was  sorry  that  she  was  not  in  a  position  to  have  what 
she  wanted.  As  for  himself,  he  was  saying  that  here  was 
one  solution  that  probably  he  would  never  accept ;  yet  it 
was  a  solution.  Why  had  he  not  seen  this  years  before  ? 

"And  yet  she  wasn't  as  beautiful  then  as  she  is  now, 
nor  as  wise, nor  as  wealthy."  Maybe!  Maybe!  But  he 
couldn't  be  unfaithful  to  Jennie  nor  wish  her  any  bad 
luck.  She  had  had  enough  without  his  willing,  and  had 
bome  it  bravely. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

THE  trip  home  did  bring  another  week  with  Mrs, 
Gerald,  for  after  mature  consideration  she  had  decided! 
to  venture  to  America  for  a  while.  Chicago  and  Cincin- 
nati were  her  destinations,  and  she  hoped  to  see  more  of 
Lester.  Her  presence  was  a  good  deal  of  a  surprise  to* 
Jennie,  and  it  started  her  thinking  again.  She  could 
see  what  the  point  was.  If  she  were  out  of  the  way  Mrs. 
Gerald  would  marry  Lester;  that  was  certain.  As  it 
was — well,  the  question  was  a  complicated  one.  Letty 
was  Lester's  natural  mate,  so  far  as  birth,  breeding,  and 
position  went.  And  yet  Jennie  felt  instinctively  that, 
on  the  large  human  side,  Lester  preferred  her.  Perhaps 
time  would  solve  the  problem;  in  the  mean  time  the  little 
party  of  three  continued  to  remain  excellent  friends. 
When  they  reached  Chicago  Mrs.  Gerald  went  her  way, 
and  Jennie  and  Lester  took  up  the  customary  thread  of 
their  existence. 

On  his  return  from  Europe  Lester  set  to  work  in 
earnest  to  find  a  business  opening.  None  of  the  big 
companies  made  him  any  overtures,  principally  be- 
cause he  was  considered  a  strong  man  who  was  looking 
for  a  control  in  anything  he  touched.  The  nature  of  his 
altered  fortunes  had  not  been  made  public.  All  the 
little  companies  that  he  investigated  were  having  a 
hand-to-mouth  existence,  or  manufacturing  a  product 
which  was  not  satisfactory  to  him.  He  did  find  one 
company  in  a  small  town  in  northern  Indiana  which 
looked  as  though  it  might  have  a  future.  It  was  con- 
trolled by  a  practical  builder  of  wagons  and  carriages — 

321 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

such  as  Lester's  father  had  been  in  his  day — who,  how- 
ever, was  not  a  good  business  man.  He  was  making 
some  small  money  on  an  investment  of  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  and  a  plant  worth,  say,  twenty-five  thousand. 
Lester  felt  that  something  could  be  done  here  if  proper 
methods  were  pursued  and  business  acumen  exercised. 
It  would  be  slow  work.  There  would  never  be  a  great 
fortune  in  it.  Not  in  his  lifetime.  He  was  thinking  of 
making  an  offer  to  the  small  manufacturer  when  the  first 
rumors  of  a  carriage  trust  reached  him. 

Robert  had  gone  ahead  rapidly  with  his  scheme  for 
reorganizing  the  carriage  trade.  He  showed  his  com- 
petitors how  much  greater  profits  could  be  made  through 
consolidation  than  through  a  mutually  destructive 
rivalry.  So  convincing  were  his  arguments  that  one  by 
one  the  big  carriage  manufacturing  companies  fell  into 
line.  Within  a  few  months  the  deal  had  been  pushed 
through,  and  Robert  found  himself  president  of  the 
United  Carriage  and  Wagon  Manufacturers'  Association, 
with  a  capital  stock  of  ten  million  dollars,  and  with 
assets  aggregating  nearly  three-fourths  of  that  sum  at  a 
forced  sale.  He  was  a  happy  man. 

While  all  this  was  going  forward  Lester  was  com- 
pletely in  the  dark.  His  trip  to  Europe  prevented  him 
from  seeing  three  or  four  minor  notices  in  the  newspapers 
of  some  of  the  efforts  that  were  being  made  to  unite  the 
various  carriage  and  wagon  manufactories.  He  re- 
turned to  Chicago  to  learn  that  Jefferson  Midgely,  Imo- 
gene's  husband,  was  still  in  full  charge  of  the  branch  and 
living  in  Evanston,  but  because  of  his  quarrel  with  his 
family  he  was  in  no  position  to  get  the  news  direct. 
Accident  brought  it  fast  enough,  however,  and  that 
rather  irritatingly. 

The  individual  who  conveyed  this  information  was 
none  other  than  Mr.  Henry  Bracebridge,  of  Cleveland, 
into  whom  he  ran  at  the  Union  Club  one  evening  after 
he  had  been  in  the  city  a  month. 

322 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"I  hear  you're  out  of  the  old  company,"  Bracebridge 
remarked,  smiling  blandly. 

"Yes,"  said  Lester,  "I'm  out." 

"What  are  you  up  to  now?" 

"Oh,  I  have  a  deal  of  my  own  under  consideration, 
I'm  thinking  something  of  handling  an  independent 
concern." 

"Surely  you  won't  run  counter  to  your  brother?  He 
has  a  pretty  good  thing  in  that  combination  of  his." 

"Combination!  I  hadn't  heard  of  it,"  said  Lester. 
"  I've  just  got  back  from  Europe." 

"Well,  you  want  to  wake  up,  Lester,"  replied  Brace- 
bridge.  "He's  got  the  biggest  thing  in  your  line.  I 
thought  you  knew  all  about  it.  The  Lyman-Winthrop 
Company,  the  Myer  -  Brooks  Company,  the  Woods 
Company — in  fact,  five  or  six  of  the  big  companies  are 
all  in.  Your  brother  was  elected  president  of  the  new 
concern.  I  dare  say  he  cleaned  up  a  couple  of  millions 
out  of  the  deal." 

Lester  stared.     His  glance  hardened  a  little. 

"Well,  that's  fine  for  Robert.     I'm  glad  of  it." 

Bracebridge  could  see  that  he  had  given  him  a  vital 
stab. 

"Well,  so  long,  old  man,"  he  exclaimed.  "When 
you're  in  Cleveland  look  us  up.  You  know  how  fond 
my  wife  is  of  you." 

"  I  know,"  replied  Lester.     "  By-by." 

He  strolled  away  to  the  smoking-room,  but  the  news 
took  all  the  zest  out  of  his  private  venture.  Where 
would  he  be  with  a  shabby  little  wagon  company  and  his 
brother  president  of  a  carriage  trust?  Good  heavens! 
Robert  could  put  him  out  of  business  in  a  year.  Why, 
he  himself  had  dreamed  of  such  a  combination  as  this. 
Now  his  brother  had  done  it. 

It  is  one  thing  to  have  youth,  courage,  and  a  fighting 
spirit  to  meet  the  blows  with  which  fortune  often  afflicts 
the  talented.  It  is  quite  another  to  see  middle  age  com- 

22  323 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

ing  on,  your  principal  fortune  possibly  gone,  and  avenue 
after  avenue  of  opportunity  being  sealed  to  you  on 
various  sides.  Jennie's  obvious  social  insufficiency, 
the  quality  of  newspaper  reputation  which  had  now  be- 
come attached  to  her,  his  father's  opposition  and  death, 
the  loss  of  his  fortune,  the  loss  of  his  connection  with  the 
company,  his  brother's  attitude,  this  trust,  all  combined 
in  a  way  to  dishearten  and  discourage  him.  He  tried  to 
keep  a  brave  face — and  he  had  succeeded  thus  far,  he 
thought,  admirably,  but  this  last  blow  appeared  for  the 
time  being  a  little  too  much.  He  went  home,  the  same 
evening  that  he  heard  the  news,  sorely  disheartened. 
Jennie  saw  it.  She  realized  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  all 
during  the  evening  that  he  was  away.  She  felt  blue 
and  despondent  herself.  When  he  came  home  she  saw 
what  it  was — something  had  happened  to  him.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  say,  "What  is  the  matter,  Lester?" 
but  her  next  and  sounder  one  was  to  ignore  it  until  he 
was  ready  to  speak,  if  ever.  She  tried  not  to  let  him  see 
that  she  saw,  coming  as  near  as  she  might  affectionately 
without  disturbing  him. 

"Vesta  is  so  delighted  with  herself  to-day,"  she  volun- 
teered by  way  of  diversion.  "She  got  such  nice  marks 
in  school." 

"That's  good,"  he  replied  solemnly. 

"And  she  dances  beautifully  these  days.  She  showed 
me  some  of  her  new  dances  to-night.  You  haven't  any 
idea  how  sweet  she  looks." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,"  he  grumbled.  "  I  always  wanted  her 
to  be  perfect  in  that.  It's  time  she  was  going  into  some 
good  girls'  school,  I  think." 

"  And  papa  gets  in  such  a  rage.  I  have  to  laugh.  She 
teases  him  about  it — the  little  imp.  She  offered  to  teach 
him  to  dance  to-night.  If  he  didn't  love  her  so  he'd  box 
her  ears." 

"I  can  see  that,"  said  Lester,  smiling.  "Him  danc- 
ing !  That's  pretty  good ! ' ' 

324 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

''She's  not  the  least  bit  disturbed  by  his  storming, 
either." 

"Good  for  her,"  said  Lester.  He  was  very  fond  of 
Vesta,  who  was  now  quite  a  girl. 

So  Jennie  tripped  on  until  his  mood  was  modified  a 
little,  and  then  some  inkling  of  what  had  happened  came 
out.  It  was  when  they  were  retiring  for  the  night. 
"Robert's  formulated  a  pretty  big  thing  in  a  financial 
way  since  we've  been  away,"  he  volunteered. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Jennie,  all  ears. 

"Oh,  he's  gotten  up  a  carriage  trust.  It's  something 
which  will  take  in  every  manufactory  of  any  importance 
in  the  country.  Bracebridge  was  telling  me  that  Robert 
was  made  president,  and  that  they  have  nearly  eight 
millions  in  capital." 

"You  don't  say!"  replied  Jennie.  "Well,  then  you 
won't  want  to  do  much  with  your  new  company,  will  you  ?" 

"No;  there's  nothing  in  that,  just  now,"  he  said. 
"  Later  on  I  fancy  it  may  be  all  right.  I'll  wait  and  see 
how  this  thing  comes  out.  You  never  can  tell  what  a 
trust  like  that  will  do." 

Jennie  was  intensely  sorry.  She  had  never  heard 
Lester  complain  before.  It  was  a  new  note.  She 
wished  sincerely  that  she  might  do  something  to  comfort 
him,  but  she  knew  that  her  efforts  were  useless.  "Oh, 
well,"  she  said,  "there  are  so  many  interesting  things  in 
this  world.  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  do 
anything,  Lester.  You  have  so  much  time." 

She  didn't  trust  herself  to  say  anything  more,  and  he 
felt  that  it  was  useless  to  worry.  Why  should  he? 
After  all,  he  had  an  ample  income  that  was  absolutely 
secure  for  two  years  yet.  He  could  have  more  if  he 
wanted  it.  Only  his  brother  was  moving  so  dazzlingly 
onward,  while  he  was  standing  still — perhaps  ".drifting" 
would  be  the  better  word.  It  did  seem  a  pity;  worst  of 
all,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little  uncertain  of  himself. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

TESTER  had  been  doing  some  pretty  hard  thinking, 
JL/  but  so  far  he  had  been  unable  to  formulate  any 
feasible  plan  for  his  re-entrance  into  active  life.  The 
successful  organization  of  Robert's  carriage  trade  trust 
had  knocked  in  the  head  any  further  thought  on  his  part 
of  taking  an  interest  in  the  small  Indiana  wagon  manu- 
factory. He  could  not  be  expected  to  sink  his  sense  of 
pride  and  place,  and  enter  a  petty  campaign  for  business 
success  with  a  man  who  was  so  obviously  his  financial 
superior.  He  had  looked  up  the  details  of  the  com- 
bination, and  he  found  that  Bracebridge  had  barely  indi- 
cated how  wonderfully  complete  it  was.  There  were 
millions  in  the  combine.  It  would  have  every  little 
manufacturer  by  the  throat.  Should  he  begin  now  in  a 
small  way  and  "pike  along"  in  the  shadow  of  his  giant 
brother?  He  couldn't  see  it.  It  was  too  ignominious. 
He  would  be  running  around  the  country  trying  to  fight 
a  new  trust,  with  his  own  brother  as  his  tolerant  rival  and 
his  own  rightful  capital  arrayed  against  him.  It  couldn't 
be  done.  Better  sit  still  for  the  time  being.  Something 
else  might  show  up.  If  not — well,  he  had  his  independ- 
ent income  and  the  right  to  come  back  into  the  Kane 
Company  if  he  wished.  Did  he  wish?  The  question  was 
always  with  him. 

It  was  while  Lester  was  in  this  mood,  drifting,  that  he 
received  a  visit  from  Samuel  E.  Ross,  a  real  estate  dealer, 
whose  great,  wooden  signs  might  be  seen  everywhere  on 
the  windy  stretches  of  prairie  about  the  city.  Lester 
had  seen  Ross  once  or  twice  at  the  Union  Club,  where  he 

326 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

had  been  pointed  out  as  a  daring  and  successful  real 
estate  speculator,  and  he  had  noticed  his  rather  con- 
spicuous offices  at  La  Salle  and  Washington  streets. 
Ross  was  a  magnetic-looking  person  of  about  fifty' 
years  of  age,  tall,  black-bearded,  black-eyed,  an  arched, 
wide-nost riled  nose,  and  hair  that  curled  naturally, 
almost  electrically.  Lester  was  impressed  with  his  lithe, 
cat-like  figure,  and  his  long,  thin,  impressive  white 
hands. 

Mr.  Ross  had  a  real  estate  proposition  to  lay  before 
Mr.  Kane.  Of  course  Mr.  Kane  knew  who  he  was. 
And  Mr.  Ross  admitted  fully  that  he  knew  all  about  Mr. 
Kane.  Recently,  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  Norman  Yale, 
of  the  wholesale  grocery  firm  of  Yale,  Simpson  &  Rice, 
he  had  developed  "Yalewood."  Mr.  Kane  knew  of 
that? 

Yes,  Mr.  Kane  knew  of  that. 

Only  within  six  weeks  the  last  lots  in  the  Ridgewood 
section  of  "Yalewood"  had  been  closed  out  at  a  total 
profit  of  forty-two  per  cent.  He  went  over  a  list  of 
other  deals  in  real  estate  which  he  had  put  through,  all 
well-known  properties.  He  admitted  frankly  that  there 
were  failures  in  the  business ;  he  had  had  one  or  two  him- 
self. But  the  successes  far  outnumbered  the  bad  specu- 
lations, as  every  one  knew.  Now  Lester  was  no  longer 
connected  with  the  Kane  Company.  He  was  probably 
looking  for  a  good  investment,  and  Mr.  Ross  had  a  prop- 
osition to  lay  before  him.  Lester  consented  to  listen, 
and  Mr.  Ross  blinked  his  cat-like  eyes  and  started  in. 

The  idea  was  that  he  and  Lester  should  enter  into  a 
one-deal  partnership,  covering  the  purchase  and  de- 
velopment of  a  forty-acre  tract  of  land  lying  between 
Fifty-fifth,  Seventy-first,  Halstead  streets,  and  Ashland 
Avenue,  on  the  southwest  side.  There  were  indications  of 
a  genuine  real  estate  boom  there — healthy,  natural,  and 
permanent.  The  city  was  about  to  pave  Fifty-fifth 
Street.  There  was  a  plan  to  extend  the  Halstead  Street 

327 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

car  line  far  below  its  present  terminus.  The  Chicago, 
Burlington  &  Quincy,  which  ran  near  there,  would  be 
glad  to  put  a  passenger  station  on  the  property.  The 
initial  cost  of  the  land  would  be  forty  thousand  dollars 
which  they  would  share  equally.  Grading,  paving, 
lighting,  tree  planting,  surveying  would  cost,  roughly, 
an  additional  twenty-five  thousand.  There  would  be 
expenses  for  advertising — say  ten  per  cent,  of  the  total 
investment  for  two  years,  or  perhaps  three — a  total  of 
nineteen  thousand  five  hundred  or  twenty  thousand 
dollars.  All  told,  they  would  stand  to  invest  jointly 
the  sum  of  ninety-five  thousand,  or  possibly  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  of  which  Lester's  share  would  be 
fifty  thousand.  Then  Mr.  Ross  began  to  figure  on  the 
profits. 

The  character  of  the  land,  its  salability,  and  the  likeli- 
hood of  a  rise  in  value  could  be  judged  by  the  property 
adjacent,  the  sales  that  had  been  made  north  of  Fifty- 
fifth  Street  and  east  of  Halstead.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
Mortimer  plot,  at  Halstead  and  Fifty-fifth  streets,  on  the 
southeast  corner.  Here  was  a  piece  of  land  that  in  1882 
was  held  at  forty-five  dollars  an  acre.  In  1886  it  had 
risen  to  five  hundred  dollars  an  acre,  as  attested  by  its 
sale  to  a  Mr.  John  L.  Slosson  at  that  time.  In  1889, 
three  years  later,  it  had  been  sold  to  Mr.  Mortimer  for 
one  thousand  per  acre,  precisely  the  figure  at  which  this 
tract  was  now  offered.  It  could  be  parceled  out  into 
lots  fifty  by  one  hundred  feet  at  five  hundred  dollars  per 
lot.  Was  there  any  profit  in  that? 

Lester  admitted  that  there  was. 

Ross  went  on,  somewhat  boastfully,  to  explain  just 
how  real  estate  profits  were  made.  It  was  useless  for 
any  outsider  to  rush  into  the  game,  and  imagine  that  he 
could  do  in  a  few  weeks  or  years  what  trained  real 
estate  speculators  like  himself  had  been  working  on  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  There  was  something  in  prestige, 
something  in  taste,  something  in  psychic  apprehension. 

3*8 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Supposing  that  they  went  into  the  deal,  he,  Ross,  would 
be  the  presiding  genius.  He  had  a  trained  staff,  he  con- 
trolled giant  contractors,  he  had  friends  in  the  tax  office, 
in  the  water  office,  and  in  the  various  other  city  depart- 
ments which  made  or  marred  city  improvements.  If 
Lester  would  come  in  with  him  he  would  make  him  some 
money — how  much  he  would  not  say  exactly — fifty 
thousand  dollars  at  the  lowest — one  hundred  and  fifty  to 
two  hundred  thousand  in  all  likelihood.  Would  Lester 
let  him  go  into  details,  and  explain  just  how  the  scheme 
could  be  worked  out  ?  After  a  few  days  of  quiet  cogita- 
tion, Lester  decided  to  accede  to  Mr.  Ross's  request;  he 
would  look  into  this  thing. 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

'TPHE  peculiarity  of  this  particular  proposition  was 
X  that  it  had  the  basic  elements  of  success.  Mr. 
Ross  had  the  experience  and  the  judgment  which  were 
quite  capable  of  making  a  success  of  almost  anything  he 
undertook.  He  was  in  a  field  which  was  entirely  familiar. 
He  could  convince  almost  any  able  man  if  he  could  get 
his  ear  sufficiently  long  to  lay  his  facts  before  him. 

Lester  was  not  convinced  at  first,  although,  generally 
speaking,  he  was  interested  in  real  estate  propositions. 
He  liked  land.  He  considered  it  a  sound  investment  pro- 
viding you  did  not  get  too  much  of  it.  He  had  never 
invested  in  any,  or  scarcely  any,  solely  because  he  had 
not  been  in  a  realm  where  real  estate  propositions  were 
talked  of.  As  it  was  he  was  landless  and,  in  a  way,  job- 
less. 

He  rather  liked  Mr.  Ross  and  his  way  of  doing  business. 
It  was  easy  to  verify  his  statements,  and  he  did  verify 
them  in  several  particulars.  There  were  his  signs  out  on 
the  prairie  stretches,  and  here  were  his  ads  in  the  daily 
papers.  It  seemed  not  a  bad  way  at  all  in  his  idleness  to 
start  and  make  some  money. 

The  trouble  with  Lester  was  that  he  had  reached  the 
time  where  he  was  not  as  keen  for  details  as  he  had 
formerly  been.  All  his  work  in  recent  years — in  fact, 
from  the  very  beginning — had  been  with  large  proposi- 
tions, the  purchasing  of  great  quantities  of  supplies,  the 
placing  of  large  orders,  the  discussion  of  things  which 
were  wholesale  and  which  had  very  little  to  do  with  the 
minor  details  which  make  up  the  special  interests  of  the 

330 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

smaller  traders  of  the  world.  In  the  factory  his  brother 
Robert  had  figured  the  pennies  and  nickels  of  labor-cost, 
had  seen  to  it  that  all  the  little  leaks  were  shut  off.  Les- 
ter had  been  left  to  deal  with  larger  things,  and  he  had 
consistently  done  so.  When  it  came  to  this  particular 
proposition  his  interest  was  in  the  wholesale  phases  of  it, 
not  the  petty  details  of  selling.  He  could  not  help 
seeing  that  Chicago  was  a  growing  city,  and  that  land 
values  must  rise.  What  was  now  far-out  prairie  prop- 
erty would  soon,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  be  well 
built-up  suburban  residence  territory.  Scarcely  any 
land  that  could  be  purchased  now  would  fall  in  value. 
It  might  drag  in  sales  or  increase,  but  it  couldn't  fall. 
Ross  convinced  him  of  this.  He  knew  it  of  his  own 
judgment  to  be  true. 

The  several  things  on  which  he  did  not  speculate 
sufficiently  were  the  life  or  health  of  Mr.  Ross;  the 
chance  that  some  obnoxious  neighborhood  growth  would 
affect  the  territory  he  had  selected  as  residence  territory; 
the  fact  that  difficult  money  situations  might  reduce  real 
estate  values — in  fact,  bring  about  a  flurry  of  real  estate 
liquidation  which  would  send  prices  crashing  down  and 
cause  the  failure  of  strong  promoters,  even  such  pro- 
moters for  instance,  as  Mr.  Samuel  E.  Ross. 

For  several  months  he  studied  the  situation  as  pre- 
sented by  his  new  guide  and  mentor,  and  then,  having 
satisfied  himself  that  he  was  reasonably  safe,  decided  to 
sell  some  of  the  holdings  which  were  netting  him  a 
beggarly  six  per  cent,  and  invest  in  this  new  proposition. 
The  first  cash  outlay  was  twenty  thousand  dollars 
for  the  land,  which  was  taken  over  under  an  operative 
agreement  between  himself  and  Ross;  this  was  run 
indefinitely — so  long  as  there  was  any  of  this  land  left 
to  sell.  The  next  thing  was  to  raise  twelve  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  for  improvements,  which  he  did,  and 
then  to  furnish  some  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  more 
for  taxes  and  unconsidered  expenses,  items  which  hart 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

come  up  in  carrying  out  the  improvement  work  which 
had  been  planned.  It  seemed  that  hard  and  soft  earth 
made  a  difference  in  grading  costs,  that  trees  would  not 
always  flourish  as  expected,  that  certain  members  of  the 
city  water  and  gas  departments  had  to  be  "seen"  and 
"fixed"  before  certain  other  improvements  could  be 
effected.  Mr.  Ross  attended  to  all  this,  but  the  cost  of 
the  proceedings  was  something  which  had  to  be  discussed, 
and  Lester  heard  it  all. 

After  the  land  was  put  in  shape,  about  a  year  after 
the  original  conversation,  it  was  necessary  to  wait  until 
spring  for  the  proper  advertising  and  booming  of  the 
new  section;  and  this  advertising  began  to  call  at  once 
for  the  third  payment.  Lester  disposed  of  an  additional 
fifteen  thousand  dollars  worth  of  securities  in  order  to 
follow  this  venture  to  its  logical  and  profitable  conclu- 
sion. 

Up  to  this  time  he  was  rather  pleased  with  his  venture. 
Ross  had  certainly  been  thorough  and  business-like  in 
his  handling  of  the  various  details.  The  land  was  put  in 
excellent  shape.  It  was  given  a  rather  attractive  title — 
"Inwood,"  although,  as  Lester  noted,  there  was  precious 
little  wood  anywhere  around  there.  But  Ross  assured 
him  that  people  looking  for  a  suburban  residence  would 
be  attracted  by  the  name ;  seeing  the  vigorous  efforts  in 
tree-planting  that  had  been  made  to  provide  for  shade  in 
the  future,  they  would  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  Lester 
smiled. 

The  first  chill  wind  that  blew  upon  the  infant  project 
came  in  the  form  of  a  rumor  that  the  International 
Packing  Company,  one  of  the  big  constituent  members  of 
the  packing  house  combination  at  Halstead  and  Thirty- 
ninth  streets,  had  determined  to  desert  the  old  group 
and  lay  out  a  new  packing  area  for  itself.  The  papers 
explained  that  the  company  intended  to  go  farther  south, 
probably  below  Fifty-fifth  Street  and  west  of  Ashland 
Avenue.  This  was  the  territory  that  was  located  due 

332 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

west  of  Lester's  property,  and  the  mere  suspicion  that 
the  packing  company  might  invade  the  territory  was 
sufficient  to  blight  the  prospects  of  any  budding  real 
estate  deal. 

Ross  was  beside  himself  with  rage.  He  decided,  after 
quick  deliberation,  that  the  best  thing  to  do  would  be 
to  boom  the  property  heavily,  by  means  of  newspaper 
advertising,  and  see  if  it  could  not  be  disposed  of  before 
any  additional  damage  was  likely  to  be  done  to  it.  He 
laid  the  matter  before  Lester,  who  agreed  that  this  would 
be  advisable.  They  had  already  expended  six  thousand 
dollars  in  advertising,  and  now  the  additional  sum  of 
three  thousand  dollars  was  spent  in  ten  days,  to  make  it 
appear  that  In  wood  was  an  ideal  residence  section, 
equipped  with  every  modern  convenience  for  the  home- 
lover,  and  destined  to  be  one  of  the  most  exclusive  and 
beautiful  suburbs  of  the  city.  It  was  "no  go."  A  few 
lots  were  sold,  but  the  rumor  that  the  International 
Packing  Company  might  come  was  persistent  and 
deadly;  from  any  point  of  view,  save  that  of  a  for- 
eign population  neighborhood,  the  enterprise  was  a 
failure. 

To  say  that  Lester  was  greatly  disheartened  by  this 
blow  is  to  put  it  mildly.  Practically  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars, two-thirds  of  all  his  earthly  possessions,  outside  of 
his  stipulated  annual  income,  was  tied  up  here;  and 
there  were  taxes  to  pay,  repairs  to  maintain,  actual  de- 
preciation in  value  to  face.  He  suggested  to  Ross  that 
the  area  might  be  sold  at  its  cost  value,  or  a  loan  raised 
on  it,  and  the  whole  enterprise  abandoned;  but  that 
experienced  real  estate  dealer  was  not  so  sanguine.  He 
had  had  one  or  two  failures  of  this  kind  before.  He  was 
superstitious  about  anything  which  did  not  go  smoothly 
from  the  beginning.  If  it  didn't  go  it  was  a  hoodoo — a 
black  shadow — and  he  wanted  no  more  to  do  with  it. 
Other  real  estate  men,  as  he  knew  to  his  cost,  were  of  the 
same  opinion. 

333 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Some  three  years  later  the  property  was  sold  under  the 
sheriff's  hammer.  Lester,  having  put  in  fifty  thousand 
dollars  all  told,  recovered  a  trifle  more  than  eighteen 
thousand ;  and  some  of  his  wise  friends  assured  him  that 
he  was  lucky  in  getting  off  so  easily. 


CHAPTER  L 

WHILE  the  real  estate  deal  was  in  progress  Mrs. 
Gerald  decided  to  move  to  Chicago.  She  had  been 
staying  in  Cincinnati  for  a  few  months,  and  had  learned 
a  great  deal  as  to  the  real  facts  of  Lester's  irregular  mode 
of  life.  The  question  whether  or  not  he  was  really  mar- 
ried to  Jennie  remained  an  open  one.  The  garbled 
details  of  Jennie's  early  years,  the  fact  that  a  Chicago 
paper  had  written  him  up  as  a  young  millionaire  who  was 
sacrificing  his  fortune  for  love  of  her,  the  certainty  that 
Robert  had  practically  eliminated  him  from  any  voice  in 
the  Kane  Company,  all  came  to  her  ears.  She  hated  to 
think  that  Lester  was  making  such  a  sacrifice  of  himself. 
He  had  let  nearly  a  year  slip  by  without  doing  anything. 
In  two  more  years  his  chance  would  be  gone.  He  had 
said  to  her  in  London  that  he  was  without  many  illusions. 
Was  Jennie  one  ?  Did  he  really  love  her,  or  was  he  just 
sorry  for  her  ?  Letty  wanted  very  much  to  find  out  for 
sure. 

The  house  that  Mrs.  Gerald  leased  in  Chicago  was  a 
most  imposing  one  on  Drexel  Boulevard.  "  I'm  going  to 
take  a  house  in  your  town  this  winter,  and  I  hope  to  see 
a  lot  of  you,"  she  wrote  to  Lester.  "I'm  awfully  bored 
with  life  here  in  Cincinnati.  After  Europe  it's  so — well, 
you  know.  I  saw  Mrs.  Knowles  on  Saturday.  She 
asked  after  you.  You  ought  to  know  that  you  have  a 
loving  friend  in  her.  Her  daughter  is  going  to  marry 
Jimmy  Severance  in  the  spring." 

Lester  thought  of  her  coming  with  mingled  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  uncertainty.  She  would  be  entertaining 

335 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

largely,  of  course.  Would  she  foolishly  begin  by  at- 
tempting to  invite  him  and  Jennie  ?  Surely  not.  She 
must  know  the  truth  by  this  time.  Her  letter  indicated 
as  much.  She  spoke  of  seeing  a  lot  of  him.  That  meant 
that  Jennie  would  have  to  be  eliminated.  He  would 
have  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  affair  to  Letty. 
Then  she  could  do  as  she  pleased  about  their  future  inti- 
macy. Seated  in  Letty 's  comfortable  boudoir  one 
afternoon,  facing  a  vision  of  loveliness  in  pale  yellow,  he 
decided  that  he  might  as  well  have  it  out  with  her.  She 
would  understand.  Just  at  this  time  he  was  beginning 
to  doubt  the  outcome  of  the  real  estate  deal,  and  conse- 
quently he  was  feeling  a  little  blue,  and,  as  a  concomitant, 
a  little  confidential.  He  could  not  as  yet  talk  to  Jennie 
about  his  troubles. 

"You  know,  Lester/'  said  Letty,  by  way  of  helping 
him  to  his  confession — the  maid  had  brought  tea  for  her 
and  some  brandy  and  soda  for  him,  and  departed — "that 
I  have  been  hearing  a  lot  of  things  about  you  since  I've 
been  back  in  this  country.  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me 
all  about  yourself  ?  You  know  I  have  your  real  interests 
at  heart." 

"What  have  you  been  hearing,  Letty?"  he  asked, 
quietly. 

"Oh,  about  your  father's  will  for  one  thing,  and  the 
fact  that  you're  out  of  the  company,  and  some  gossip 
about  Mrs.  Kane  which  doesn't  interest  me  very  much. 
You  know  what  I  mean.  Aren't  you  going  to  straighten 
things  out,  so  that  you  can  have  what  rightfully  belongs 
to  you?  It  seems  to  me  such  a  great  sacrifice,  Lester, 
unless,  of  course,  you  are  very  much  in  love.  Are  you  ?" 
she  asked  archly. 

Lester  paused  and  deliberated  before  replying.  "I 
really  don't  know  how  to  answer  that  last  question, 
Letty,"  he  said.  "Sometimes  I  think  that  I  love  her; 
sometimes  I  wonder  whether  I  do  or  not.  I'm  going  to 
be  perfectly  frank  with  you.  I  was  never  in  such  a  curi- 

336 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

ous  position  in  my  life  before.  You  like  me  so  much, 
and  I — well,  I  don't  say  what  I  think  of  you,"  he  smiled. 
"But  anyhow,  I  can  talk  to  you  frankly.  I'm  not 
married." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  she  said,  as  he  paused. 

"And  I'm  not  married  because  I  have  never  been 
able  to  make  up  my  mind  just  what  to  do  about  it. 
When  I  first  met  Jennie  I  thought  her  the  most  entranc- 
ing girl  I  had  ever  laid  eyes  on." 

"That  speaks  volumes  for  my  charms  at  that  time," 
interrupted  his  vis-a-vis. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me  if  you  want  to  hear  this,"  he 
smiled. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  she  questioned,"  and  then  I 
won't.  Was  that  in  Cleveland?" 

"Yes." 

"So  I  heard,"  she  assented. 

"There  was  something  about  her  so — " 

"Love  at  first  sight,"  again  interpolated  Letty  fool- 
ishly. Her  heart  was  hurting  her.  "  I  know." 

"Are  you  going  to  let  me  tell  this?" 

"Pardon  me,  Lester.     I  can't  help  a  twinge  or  two." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  I  lost  my  head.  I  thought  she  was  the 
most  perfect  thing  under  the  sun,  even  if  she  was  a  little 
out  of  my  world.  This  is  a  democratic  country.  I 
thought  that  I  could  just  take  her,  and  then — well,  you 
know.  That  is  where  I  made  my  mistake.  I  didn't 
think  that  would  prove  as  serious  as  it  did.  I  never 
cared  for  any  other  woman  but  you  before  and — I'll  be 
frank — I  didn't  know  whether  I  wanted  to  marry  you. 
I  thought  I  didn't  want  to  marry  any  woman.  I  said  to 
myself  that  I  could  just  take  Jennie,  and  then,  after 
a  while,  when  things  had  quieted  down  some,  we  could 
separate.  She  would  be  well  provided  for.  I  wouldn't 
care  very  much.  She  wouldn't  care.  You  understand." 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  replied  his  confessor. 

"Well,  you  see,  Letty,  it  hasn't  worked  out  that  way. 
337 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

She's  a  woman  of  a  curious  temperament.  She  possesses 
a  world  of  feeling  and  emotion.  She's  not  educated  in 
the  sense  in  which  we  understand  that  word,  but  she  has 
natural  refinement  and  tact.  She's  a  good  housekeeper. 
She's  an  ideal  mother.  She's  the  most  affectionate 
creature  under  the  sun.  Her  devotion  to  her  mother 
and  father  was  beyond  words.  Her  love  for  her  daugh- 
ter— she's  hers,  not  mine — is  perfect.  She  hasn't  any  of 
the  graces  of  the  smart  society  woman.  She  isn't  quick 
at  repartee.  She  can't  join  in  any  rapid-fire  conversa- 
tion. She  thinks  rather  slowly,  I  imagine.  Some  of  her 
big  thoughts  never  come  to  the  surface  at  all,  but  you  can 
feel  that  she  is  thinking  and  that  she  is  feeling." 

"  You  pay  her  a  lovely  tribute,  Lester,"  said  Letty. 

"I  ought  to,"  he  replied.  "She's  a  good  woman, 
Letty;  but,  for  all  that  I  have  said,  I  sometimes  think 
that  it's  only  sympathy  that's  holding  me." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  she  said  warningly. 

"Yes,  but  I've  gone  through  with  a  great  deal.  The 
thing  for  me  to  have  done  was  to  have  married  her  in  the 
first  place.  There  have  been  so  many  entanglements 
since,  so  much  rowing  and  discussion,  that  I've  rather 
lost  my  bearings.  This  will  of  father's  complicates 
matters.  I  stand  to  lose  eight  hundred  thousand  if  I 
marry  her — really,  a  great  deal  more,  now  that  the  com- 
pany has  been  organized  into  a  trust.  I  might  better 
say  two  millions.  If  I  don't  marry  her,  I  lose  everything 
outright  in  about  two  more  years.  Of  course,  I  might 
pretend  that  I  have  separated  from  her,  but  I  don't  care 
to  lie.  I  can't  work  it  out  that  way  without  hurting  her 
feelings,  and  she's  been  the  soul  of  devotion.  Right 
down  in  my  heart,  at  this  minute,  I  don't  know  whether 
I  want  to  give  her  up.  Honestly,  I  don't  know  what  the 
devil  to  do." 

Lester  looked,  lit  a  cigar  in  a  far-off,  speculative 
fashion,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  problem?"  questioned  Letty, 
338 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

staring  at  the  floor.  She  rose,  after  a  few  moments  of 
silence,  and  put  her  hands  on  his  round,  solid  head.  Her 
yellow,  silken  house-gown,  faintly  scented,  touched  his 
shoulders.  "Poor  Lester,"  she  said.  "You  certainly 
have  tied  yourself  up  in  a  knot.  But  it's  a  Gordian  knot, 
my  dear,  and  it  will  have  to  be  cut.  Why  don't  you  dis- 
cuss this  whole  thing  with  her,  just  as  you  have  with  me, 
and  see  how  she  feels  about  it?" 

"  It  seems  such  an  unkind  thing  to  do,"  he  replied. 

"You  must  take  some  action,  Lester  dear,"  she  in- 
sisted. "You  can't  just  drift.  You  are  doing  yourself 
such  a  great  injustice.  Frankly,  I  can't  advise  you  to 
marry  her;  and  I'm  not  speaking  for  myself  in  that, 
though  I'll  take  you  gladly,  even  if  you  did  forsake  me  in 
the  first  place.  I'll  be  perfectly  honest — whether  you 
ever  come  to  me  or  not — I  love  you,  and  always  shall  love 
you." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Lester,  getting  up.  He  took  her 
hands  in  his,  and  studied  her  face  curiously.  Then  he 
turned  away.  Letty  paused  to  get  her  breath.  His 
action  discomposed  her. 

"But  you're  too  big  a  man,  Lester,  to  settle  down  on 
ten  thousand  a  year,"  she  continued.  "You're  too 
much  of  a  social  figure  to  drift.  You  ought  to  get  back 
into  the  social  and  financial  world  where  you  belong. 
All  that's  happened  won't  injure  you,  if  you  reclaim  your 
interest  in  the  company.  You  can  dictate  your  own 
terms.  And  if  you  tell  her  the  truth  she  won't  object, 
I'm  sure.  If  she  cares  for  you,  as  you  think  she  does,  she 
will  be  glad  to  make  this  sacrifice.  I'm  positive  of  that. 
You  can  provide  for  her  handsomely,  of  course." 

"It  isn't  the  money  that  Jennie  wants,"  said  Lester, 
gloomily. 

"Well,  even  if  it  isn't,  she  can  live  without  you  and 
she  can  live  better  for  having  an  ample  income." 

"  She  will  never  want  if  I  can  help  it,"  he  said  solemnly. 

"  You  must  leave  her,"  she  urged,  with  a  new  touch  of 
23  339 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

decisiveness.  "  You  must.  Every  day  is  precious  with 
you,  Lester!  Why  don't  you  make  up  your  mind  to  act 
at  once — to-day,  for  that  matter?  Why  not?" 

"Not  so  fast,"  he  protested.  "This  is  a  ticklish  busi- 
ness. To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  hate  to  do  it.  It  seems  so 
brutal — so  unfair.  I'm  not  one  to  run  around  and  dis- 
cuss my  affairs  with  other  people.  I've  refused  to  talk 
about  this  to  any  one  heretofore — my  father,  my  mother, 
any  one.  But  somehow  you  have  always  seemed  closer 
to  me  than  any  one  else,  and,  since  I  met  you  this  time, 
I  have  felt  as  though  I  ought  to  explain — I  have  really 
wanted  to.  I  care  for  you.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
understand  how  that  can  be  under  the  circumstances. 
But  I  do.  You're  nearer  to  me  intellectually  and  emo- 
tionally than  I  thought  you  were.  Don't  frown.  You 
want  the  truth,  don't  you?  Well,  there  you  have  it. 
Now  explain  me  to  myself,  if  you  can." 

"I  don't  want  to  argue  with  you,  Lester,"  she  said 
softly,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  I  merely  want  to 
love  you.  I  understand  quite  well  how  it  has  all  come 
about.  I'm  sorry  for  myself.  I'm  sorry  for  you.  I'm 
sorry — "  she  hesitated — "for  Mrs.  Kane.  She's  a 
charming  woman.  I  like  her.  I  really  do.  But  she 
isn't  the  woman  for  you,  Lester;  she  really  isn't.  You 
need  another  type.  It  seems  so  unfair  for  us  two  to  dis- 
cuss her  in  this  way,  but  really  it  isn't.  We  all  have  to 
stand  on  our  merits.  And  I'm  satisfied,  if  the  facts  in 
this  case  were  put  before  her,  as  you  have  put  them  before 
me,  she  would  see  just  how  it  all  is,  and  agree.  She 
can't  want  to  harm  you.  Why,  Lester,  if  I  were  in  her 
position  I  would  let  you  go.  I  would,  truly.  I  think 
you  know  that  I  would.  Any  good  woman  would.  It 
would  hurt  me,  but  I'd  do  it.  It  will  hurt  her,  but  she'll 
do  it.  Now,  mark  you  my  words,  she  will.  I  think  I 
understand  her  as  well  as  you  do — better — for  I  am  a 
woman.  Oh,"  she  said,  pausing,  "I  wish  I  were  in  a 
position  to  talk  to  her.  I  could  make  her  understand." 

340 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

Lester  looked  at  Letty,  wondering  at  her  eagerness. 
She  was  beautiful,  magnetic,  immensely  worth  while. 

"Not  so  fast,"  he  repeated.  "I  want  to  think  about 
this.  I  have  some  time  yet." 

She  paused,  a  little  crestfallen  but  determined. 

"This  is  the  time  to  act,"  she  repeated,  her  whole  soul 
in  her  eyes.  She  wanted  this  man,  and  she  was  not 
ashamed  to  let  him  see  that  she  wanted  him. 

"Well,  I'll  think  of  it,"  he  said  uneasily,  then,  rather 
hastily,  he  bade  her  good-by  and  went  away. 


CHAPTER   LI 

E;STER  had  thought  of  his  predicament  earnestly 
enough,  and  he  would  have  been  satisfied  to  act  soon  if 
it  had  not  been  that  one  of  those  disrupting  influences 
which  sometimes  complicate  our  affairs  entered  into  his 
Hyde  Park  domicile.  Gerhardt's  health  began  rapidly 
to  fail. 

Little  by  little  he  had  been  obliged  to  give  up  his 
various  duties  about  the  place;  finally  he  was  obliged 
to  take  to  his  bed.  He  lay  in  his  room,  devotedly  at- 
tended by  Jennie  and  visited  constantly  by  Vesta,  and 
occasionally  by  Lester.  There  was  a  window  not  far 
from  his  bed,  which  commanded  a  charming  view  of  the 
lawn  and  one  of  the  surrounding  streets,  and  through 
this  he  would  gaze  by  the  hour,  wondering  how  the  world 
was  getting  on  without  him.  He  suspected  that  Woods, 
the  coachman,  was  not  looking  after  the  horses  and  har- 
nesses as  well  as  he  should,  that  the  newspaper  carrier 
was  getting  negligent  in  his  delivery  of  the  papers,  that 
the  furnace  man  was  wasting  coal,  or  was  not  giving 
them  enough  heat.  A  score  of  little  petty  worries,  which 
were  nevertheless  real  enough  to  him.  He  knew  how  a 
house  should  be  kept.  He  was  always  rigid  in  his  per- 
formance of  his  self-appointed  duties,  and  he  was  so 
afraid  that  things  would  not  go  right.  Jennie  made  for 
him  a  most  imposing  and  sumptuous  dressing-gown  of 
basted  wool,  covered  with  dark-blue  silk,  and  bought 
him  a  pair  of  soft,  thick,  wool  slippers  to  match,  but  he 
did  not  wear  them  often.  He  preferred  to  lie  in  bed, 
read  his  Bible  and  the  Lutheran  papers,  and  ask  Jennie 
how  things  were  getting  along. 

342 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"  I  want  you  should  go  down  in  the  basement  and  see 
what  that  feller  is  doing.  He's  not  giving  us  any  heat," 
he  would  complain.  "I  bet  I  know  what  he  does.  He 
sits  down  there  and  reads,  and  then  he  forgets  what  the 
fire  is  doing  until  it  is  almost  out.  The  beer  is  right 
there  where  he  can  take  it.  You  should  lock  it  up. 
You  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is.  He  may  be 
no  good." 

Jennie  would  protest  that  the  house  was  fairly  com- 
fortable, that  the  man  was  a  nice,  quiet,  respectable- 
looking  American — that  if  he  did  drink  a  little  beer  it 
would  not  matter.  Gerhardt  would  immediately  be- 
come incensed. 

"That  is  always  the  way,"  he  declared  vigorously. 
"You  have  no  sense  of  economy.  You  are  always  so 
ready  to  let  things  go  if  I  am  not  there.  He  is  a  nice 
man!  How  do  you  know  he  is  a  nice  man?  Does  he 
keep  the  fire  up  ?  No !  Does  he  keep  the  walks  clean  ? 
If  you  don't  watch  him  he  will  be  just  like  the  others,  no 
good.  You  should  go  around  and  see  how  things  are  for 
yourself." 

"All  right,  papa,"  she  would  reply  in  a  genial  effort  to 
soothe  him,  "I  will.  Please  don't  worry.  I'll  lock  up 
the  beer.  Don't  you  want  a  cup  of  coffee  now  and 
some  toast?" 

"No,"  Gerhardt  would  sigh  immediately,  "my  stom- 
ach it  don't  do  right.  I  don't  know  how  I  am  going  to 
come  out  of  this." 

Dr.  Makin,  the  leading  physician  of  the  vicinity,  and  a 
man  of  considerable  experience  and  ability,  called  at 
Jennie's  request  and  suggested  a  few  simple  things — hot 
milk,  a  wine  tonic,  rest,  but  he  told  Jennie  that  she 
must  not  expect  too  much.  "  You  know  he  is  quite  well 
along  in  years  now.  He  is  quite  feeble.  If  he  were 
twenty  years  younger  we  might  do  a  great  deal  for  him. 
As  it  is  he  is  quite  well  off  where  he  is.  He  may  live  for 
some  time.  He  may  get  up  and  be  around  again,  and 

343 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

then  he  may  not.  We  must  all  expect  these  things.  I 
have  never  any  care  as  to  what  may  happen  to  me.  I  am 
too  old  myself." 

Jennie  felt  sorry  to  think  that  her  father  might  die, 
but  she  was  pleased  to  think  that  if  he  must  it  was  going 
to  be  under  such  comfortable  circumstances.  Here  at 
least  he  could  have  every  care. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  this  was  Gerhardt's  last 
illness,  and  Jennie  thought  it  her  duty  to  communicate 
with  her  brothers  and  sisters.  She  wrote  Bass  that  his 
father  was  not  well,  and  had  a  letter  from  him  saying  that 
he  was  very  busy  and  couldn't  come  on  unless  the  danger 
was  an  immediate  one.  He  went  on  to  say  that  George 
was  in  Rochester,  working  for  a  wholesale  wall-paper 
house — the  Sheff- Jefferson  Company,  he  thought.  Mar- 
tha and  her  husband  had  gone  to  Boston.  Her  address 
was  a  little  suburb  named  Belmont,  just  outside  the 
city.  William  was  in  Omaha,  working  for  a  local  electric 
company.  Veronica  was  married  to  a  man  named 
Albert  Sheridan,  who  was  connected  with  a  wholesale 
drug  company  in  Cleveland.  "She  never  comes  to  see 
me,"  complained  Bass,  "but  I'll  let  her  know."  Jennie 
wrote  each  one  personally.  From  Veronica  and  Martha 
she  received  brief  replies.  They  were  very  sorry,  and 
would  she  let  them  know  if  anything  happened.  George 
wrote  that  he  could  not  think  of  coming  to  Chicago  unless 
his  father  was  very  ill  indeed,  but  that  he  would  like  to 
be  informed  from  time  to  time  how  he  was  getting  along. 
William,  as  he  told  Jennie  some  time  afterward,  did  not 
get  her  letter. 

The  progress  of  the  old  German's  malady  toward  final 
dissolution  preyed  greatly  on  Jennie's  mind;  for,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  they  had  been  so  far  apart  in  times 
past,  they  had  now  grown  very  close  together.  Ger- 
hardt  had  come  to  realize  clearly  that  his  outcast  daugh- 
ter was  goodness  itself — at  least,  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned. She  never  quarreled  with  him,  never  crossed 

344 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

him  in  any  way.  Now  that  he  was  sick,  she  was  in  and 
out  of  his  room  a  dozen  times  in  an  evening  or  an  after- 
noon, seeing  whether  he  was  "all  right,"  asking  how  he 
liked  his  breakfast,  or  his  lunch,  or  his  dinner.  As  he 
grew  weaker  she  would  sit  by  him  and  read,  or  do  her 
sewing  in  his  room.  One  day  when  she  was  straighten- 
ing his  pillow  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  He  was 
feeling  very  weak  and  despondent.  She  looked  up  in 
astonishment,  a  lump  in  her  throat.  There  were  tears 
in  his  eyes. 

"You're  a  good  girl,  Jennie,"  he  said  brokenly. 
"You've  been  good  to  me.  I've  been  hard  and  cross, 
but  I'm  an  old  man.  You  forgive  me,  don't  you  ?" 

"Oh,  papa,  please  don't,"  she  pleaded,  tears  welling 
from  her  eyes.  "You  know  I  have  nothing  to  forgive. 
I'm  the  one  who  has  been  all  wrong." 

"No,  no,"  he  said;  and  she  sank  down  on  her  knees 
beside  him  and  cried.  He  put  his  thin,  yellow  hand  on 
her  hair.  "There,  there,"  he  said  brokenly,  "I  under- 
stand a  lot  of  things  I  didn't.  We  get  wiser  as  we  get 
older." 

She  left  the  room,  ostensibly  to  wash  her  face  and 
hands,  and  cried  her  eyes  out.  Was  he  really  forgiving 
her  at  last  ?  And  she  had  lied  to  him  so !  She  tried  to 
be  more  attentive,  but  that  was  impossible.  But  after 
this  reconciliation  he  seemed  happier  and  more  con- 
tented, and  they  spent  a  number  of  happy  hours  together, 
just  talking.  Once  he  said  to  her,  "  You  know  I  feel  just 
like  I  did  when  I  was  a  boy.  If  it  wasn't  for  my  bones 
I  could  get  up  and  dance  on  the  grass." 

Jennie  fairly  smiled  and  sobbed  in  one  breath.  "  You'll 
get  stronger,  papa,"  she  said.  "You're  going  to  get 
well.  Then  I'll  take  you  out  driving."  She  was  so 
glad  she  had  been  able  to  make  him  comfortable  these 
last  few  years. 

As  for  Lester,  he  was  affectionate  and  considerate. 

"Well,  how  is  it  to-night?"  he  would  ask  the  moment 
345 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

he  entered  the  house,  and  he  would  always  drop  in  for  a 
few  minutes  before  dinner  to  see  how  the  old  man  was 
getting  along.  "He  looks  pretty  well,"  he  would  tell 
Jennie.  "He's  apt  to  live  some  time  yet.  I  wouldn't 
worry." 

Vesta  also  spent  much  time  with  her  grandfather,  for 
she  had  come  to  love  him  dearly.  She  would  bring  her 
books,  if  it  didn't  disturb  him  too  much,  and  recite  some 
of  her  lessons,  or  she  would  leave  his  door  open,  and  play 
for  him  on  the  piano.  Lester  had  bought  her  a  hand- 
some music-box  also,  which  she  would  sometimes  carry  to 
his  room  and  play  for  him.  At  times  he  wearied  of 
everything  and  everybody  save  Jennie;  he  wanted  to  be 
alone  with  her.  She  would  sit  beside  him  quite  still  and 
sew.  She  could  see  plainly  that  the  end  was  only  a  little 
way  off. 

Gerhardt,  true  to  his  nature,  took  into  consideration 
all  the  various  arrangements  contingent  upon  his  death. 
He  wished  to  be  buried  in  the  little  Lutheran  cemetery, 
which  was  several  miles  farther  out  on  the  South  Side, 
and  he  wanted  the  beloved  minister  of  his  church  to 
officiate. 

"I  want  everything  plain,"  he  said.  "Just  my  black 
suit  and  those  Sunday  shoes  of  mine,  and  that  black 
string  tie.  I  don't  want  anything  else.  I  will  be  all 
right." 

Jennie  begged  him  not  to  talk  of  it,  but  he  would. 
One  day  at  four  o'clock  he  had  a  sudden  sinking  spell, 
and  at  five  he  was  dead.  Jennie  held  his  hands,  watch- 
ing his  labored  breathing;  once  or  twice  he  opened  his 
eyes  to  smile  at  her.  "I  don't  mind  going,"  he  said,  in 
this  final  hour.  "  I've  done  what  I  could." 

"Don't  talk  of  dying,  papa,"  she  pleaded. 

"It's  the  end,"  he  said.  "You've  been  good  to  me. 
You're  a  good  woman." 

She  heard  no  other  words  from  his  lips. 

The  finish  which  time  thus  put  to  this  troubled  life 

346 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

affected  Jennie  deeply.  Strong  in  her  kindly,  emotional 
relationships,  Gerhardt  had  appealed  to  her  not  only  as 
her  father,  but  as  a  friend  and  counselor.  She  saw 
him  now  in  his  true  perspective,  a  hard-working,  honest, 
sincere  old  German,  who  had  done  his  best  to  raise  a 
troublesome  family  and  lead  an  honest  life.  Truly  she 
had  been  his  one  great  burden,  and  she  had  never  really 
dealt  truthfully  with  him  to  the  end.  She  wondered 
now  if  where  he  was  he  could  see  that  she  had  lied. 
And  would  he  forgive  her?  He  had  called  her  a  good 
woman. 

Telegrams  were  sent  to  all  the  children.  Bass  wired 
that  he  was  coming,  and  arrived  the  next  day.  The 
others  wired  that  they  could  not  come,  but  asked  for 
details,  which  Jennie  wrote.  The  Lutheran  minister 
was  called  in  to  say  prayers  and  fix  the  time  of  the  burial 
service.  A  fat,  smug  undertaker  was  commissioned 
to  arrange  all  the  details.  Some  few  neighborhood 
friends  called — those  who  had  remained  most  faithful 
— and  on  the  second  morning  following  his  death  the 
services  were  held.  Lester  accompanied  Jennie  and 
Vesta  and  Bass  to  the  little  red  brick  Lutheran  church, 
and  sat  stolidly  through  the  rather  dry  services.  He 
listened  wearily  to  the  long  discourse  on  the  beauties  and 
rewards  of  a  future  life  and  stirred  irritably  when  refer- 
ence was  made  to  a  hell.  Bass  was  rather  bored,  but 
considerate.  He  looked  upon  his  father  now  much  as 
he  would  on  any  other  man.  Only  Jennie  wept  sym- 
pathetically. She  saw  her  father  in  perspective,  the 
long  years  of  trouble  he  had  had,  the  days  in  which  he 
had  had  to  saw  wood  for  a  living,  the  days  in  which 
he  had  lived  in  a  factory  loft,  the  little  shabby  house 
they  had  been  compelled  to  live  in  in  Thirteenth  Street, 
the  terrible  days  of  suffering  they  had  spent  in  Lorrie 
Street,  in  Cleveland,  his  grief  over  her,  his  grief  over 
Mrs.  Gerhardt,  his  love  and  care  of  Vesta,  and  finally 
these  last  days. 

347 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Oh,  he  was  a  good  man,"  she  thought.  "He  meant 
so  well."  They  sang  a  hymn,  "A  Mighty  Fortress  Is 
Our  God,"  and  then  she  sobbed. 

Lester  pulled  at  her  arm.  He  was  moved  to  the  dan- 
ger-line himself  by  her  grief.  "You'll  have  to  do  better 
than  this,"  he  whispered.  "My  God,  I  can't  stand  it. 
I'll  have  to  get  up  and  get  out."  Jennie  quieted  a  little, 
but  the  fact  that  the  last  visible  ties  were  being  broken 
between  her  and  her  father  was  almost  too  much. 

At  the  grave  in  the  Cemetery  of  the  Redeemer,  where 
Lester  had  immediately  arranged  to  purchase  a  lot,  they 
saw  the  plain  coffin  lowered  and  the  earth  shoveled  in. 
Lester  looked  curiously  at  the  bare  trees,  the  brown  dead 
grass,  and  the  brown  soil  of  the  prairie  turned  up  at  this 
simple  graveside.  There  was  no  distinction  to  this  burial 
plot.  It  was  commonplace  and  shabby,  a  working- 
man's  resting-place,  but  so  long  as  he  wanted  it,  it  was 
all  right.  He  studied  Bass's  keen,  lean  face,  wondering 
what  sort  of  a  career  he  was  cutting  out  for  himself. 
Bass  looked  to  him  like  some  one  who  would  run  a  cigar 
store  successfully.  He  watched  Jennie  wiping  her  red 
eyes,  and  then  he  said  to  himself  again,  "Well,  there  is 
something  to  her."  The  woman's  emotion  was  so  deep, 
so  real.  "There's  no  explaining  a  good  woman,"  he 
said  to  himself. 

On  the  way  home,  through  the  wind-swept,  dusty 
streets,  he  talked  of  life  in  general,  Bass  and  Vesta  being 
present.  "Jennie  takes  things  too  seriously,"  he  said. 
"She's  inclined  to  be  morbid.  Life  isn't  as  bad  as  she 
makes  out  with  her  sensitive  feelings.  We  all  have  our 
troubles,  and  we  all  have  to  stand  them,  some  more, 
some  less.  We  can't  assume  that  any  one  is  so  much 
better  or  worse  off  than  any  one  else.  We  all  have  our 
share  of  troubles." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Jennie.  "I  feel  so  sorry  for 
some  people." 

"Jennie  always  was  a  little  gloomy,"  put  in  Bass. 
348 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

He  was  thinking  what  a  fine  figure  of  a  man  Lester  was, 
how  beautifully  they  lived,  how  Jennie  had  come  up  in 
the  world.  He  was  thinking  that  there  must  be  a  lot 
more  to  her  than  he  had  originally  thought.  Life 
surely  did  turn  out  queer.  At  one  time  he  thought 
Jennie  was  a  hopeless  failure  and  no  good. 

"You  ought  to  try  to  steel  yourself  to  take  things  as 
they  come  without  going  to  pieces  this  way,"  said  Lester 
finally. 

Bass  thought  so  too. 

Jennie  stared  thoughtfully  out  of  the  carriage  window. 
There  was  the  old  house  now,  large  and  silent  without 
Gerhardt.  Just  think,  she  would  never  see  him  any 
more.  They  finally  turned  into  the  drive  and  entered  the 
library.  Jeannette,  nervous  and  sympathetic,  served 
tea.  Jennie  went  to  look  after  various  details.  She 
wondered  curiously  where  she  would  be  when  she  died. 


CHAPTER   LII 

THE  fact  that  Gerhardt  was  dead  made  no  particular 
difference  to  Lester,  except  as  it  affected  Jennie. 
He  had  liked  the  old  German  for  his  many  sterling  quali- 
ties, but  beyond  that  he  thought  nothing  of  him  one 
way  or  the  other.  He  took  Jennie  to  a  watering-place 
for  ten  days  to  help  her  recover  her  spirits,  and  it  was 
soon  after  this  that  he  decided  to  tell  her  just  how  things 
stood  with  him;  he  would  put  the  problem  plainly  before 
her.  It  would  be  easier  now,  for  Jennie  had  been  in- 
formed of  the  disastrous  prospects  of  the  real-estate  deal. 
She  was  also  aware  of  his  continued  interest  in  Mrs. 
Gerald.  Lester  did  not  hesitate  to  let  Jennie  know  that 
he  was  on  very  friendly  terms  with  her.  Mrs.  Gerald 
had,  at  first,  formally  requested  him  to  bring  Jennie  to 
see  her,  but  she  never  had  called  herself,  and  Jennie  under- 
stood quite  clearly  that  it  was  not  to  be.  Now  that  her 
father  was  dead,  she  was  beginning  to  wonder  what  was 
going  to  become  of  her;  she  was  afraid  that  Lester  might 
not  marry  her.  Certainly  he  showed  no  signs  of  intend- 
ing to  do  so. 

By  one  of  those  curious  coincidences  of  thought,  Rob- 
ert also  had  reached  the  conclusion  that  something 
should  be  done.  He  did  not,  for  one  moment,  imagine 
that  he  could  directly  work  upon  Lester — he  did  not  care 
to  try — but  he  did  think  that  some  influence  might  be 
brought  to  bear  on  Jennie.  She  was  probably  amenable 
to  reason.  If  Lester  had  not  married  her  already,  she 
must  realize  full  well  that  he  did  not  intend  to  do  so. 
Suppose  that  some  responsible  third  person  were  to 

350 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

approach  her,  and  explain  how  things  were,  including, 
of  course,  the  offer  of  an  independent  income?  Might 
she  not  be  willing  to  leave  Lester,  and  end  all  this  trouble  ? 
After  all,  Lester  was  his  brother,  and  he  ought  not  to  lose 
his  fortune.  Robert  had  things  very  much  in  his  own 
hands  now,  and  could  afford  to  be  generous.  He  finally 
decided  that  Mr.  O'Brien,  of  Knight,  Keatley  &  O'Brien, 
would  be  the  proper  intermediary,  for  O'Brien  was  suave, 
good-natured,  and  well-meaning,  even  if  he  was  a  lawyer. 
He  might  explain  to  Jennie  very  delicately  just  how  the 
family  felt,  and  how  much  Lester  stood  to  lose  if  he  con- 
tinued to  maintain  his  connection  with  her.  If  Lester 
had  married  Jennie,  O'Brien  would  find  it  out.  A 
liberal  provision  would  be  made  for  her — say  fifty  or  one 
hundred  thousand,  or  even  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars.  He  sent  for  Mr.  O'Brien  and  gave  him 
his  instructions.  As  one  of  the  executors  of  Archibald 
Kane's  estate,  it  was  really  the  lawyer's  duty  to  look 
into  the  matter  of  Lester's  ultimate  decision. 

Mr.  O'Brien  journeyed  to  Chicago.  On  reaching  the 
city,  he  called  up  Lester,  and  found  out  to  his  satis- 
faction that  he  was  out  of  town  for  the  day.  He  went 
out  to  the  house  in  Hyde  Park,  and  sent  in  his  card  to 
Jennie.  She  came  down-stairs  in  a  few  minutes  quite 
unconscious  of  the  import  of  his  message ;  he  greeted  her 
most  blandly. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Kane?"  he  asked,  with  an  interlocutory 
jerk  of  his  head. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jennie. 

"  I  am,  as  you  see  by  my  card,  Mr.  O'Brien,  of  Knight, 
Keatley  &  O'Brien,"  he  began.  "We  are  the  attorneys 
and  executors  of  the  late  Mr.  Kane,  your — ah — Mr. 
Kane's  father.  You'll  think  it's  rather  curious,  my  com- 
ing to  you,  but  under  your  husband's  father's  will  there 
were  certain  conditions  stipulated  which  affect  you  and 
Mr.  Kane  very  materially.  These  provisions  are  so 
important  that  I  think  you  ought  to  know  about  them — 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

that  is  if  Mr.  Kane  hasn't  already  told  you.  I — pardon 
me — but  the  peculiar  nature  of  them  makes  me  conclude 
that — possibly — he  hasn't."  He  paused,  a  very  ques- 
tion-mark of  a  man — every  feature  of  his  face  an  interro- 
gation. 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Jennie.  "I  don't 
know  anything  about  the  will.  If  there's  anything  that 
I  ought  to  know,  I  suppose  Mr.  Kane  will  tell  me.  He 
hasn't  told  me  anything  as  yet." 

"Ah!"  breathed  Mr.  O'Brien,  highly  gratified.  "Just 
as  I  thought.  Now,  if  you  will  allow  me  I'll  go  into  the 
matter  briefly.  Then  you  can  judge  for  yourself  whether 
you  wish  to  hear  the  full  particulars.  Won't  you  sit 
down?"  They  had  both  been  standing.  Jennie  seated 
herself,  and  Mr.  O'Brien  pulled  up  a  chair  near  to  hers. 

"Now  to  begin,"  he  said.  " I  need  not  say  to  you,  of 
course,  that  there  was  considerable  opposition  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Kane's  father,  to  this — ah — union  between 
yourself  and  his  son." 

"  I  know — "  Jennie  started  to  say,  but  checked  herself. 
She  was  puzzled,  disturbed,  and  a  little  apprehensive. 

"Before  Mr.  Kane  senior  died,"  he  went  on,  "he 
indicated  to  your — ah — to  Mr.  Lester  Kane,  that  he 
felt  this  way.  In  his  will  he  made  certain  conditions 
governing  the  distribution  of  his  property  which  made 
it  rather  hard  for  his  son,  your — ah — husband,  to  come 
into  his  rightful  share.  Ordinarily,  he  would  have  in- 
herited one-fourth  of  the  Kane  Manufacturing  Company, 
worth  to-day  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  million  dollars, 
perhaps  more;  also  one-fourth  of  the  other  properties, 
which  now  aggregate  something  like  five  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  I  believe  Mr.  Kane  senior  was  really 
very  anxious  that  his  son  should  inherit  this  property. 
But  owing  to  the  conditions  which  your — ah — which 
Mr.  Kane's  father  made,  Mr.  Lester  Kane  cannot  possi- 
bly obtain  his  share,  except  by  complying  with  a — with 
a — certain  wish  which  his  father  had  expressed." 

352 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Mr.  O'Brien  paused,  his  eyes  moving  back  and  forth 
side  wise  in  their  sockets.  In  spite  of  the  natural  prej- 
udice of  the  situation,  he  was  considerably  impressed 
with  Jennie's  pleasing  appearance.  He  could  see  quite 
plainly  why  Lester  might  cling  to  her  in  the  face  of  all 
opposition.  He  continued  to  study  her  furtively  as  he 
sat  there  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"And  what  was  that  wish?"  she  finally  asked,  hei 
nerves  becoming  just  a  little  tense  under  the  strain  of 
the  silence. 

"  I  am  glad  you  were  kind  enough  to  ask  me  that,"  he 
went  on.  "The  subject  is  a  very  difficult  one  for  me  to 
introduce — very  difficult.  I  come  as  an  emissary  of  the 
estate,  I  might  say  as  one  of  the  executors  under  the  will 
of  Mr.  Kane's  father.  I  know  how  keenly  your — ah — 
how  keenly  Mr.  Kane  feels  about  it.  I  know  how  keenly 
you  will  probably  feel  about  it.  But  it  is  one  of  those 
very  difficult  things  which  cannot  be  helped — which 
must  be  got  over  somehow.  And  while  I  hesitate  very 
much  to  say  so,  I  must  tell  you  that  Mr.  Kane  senior 
stipulated  in  his  will  that  unless,  unless" — again  his 
eyes  were  moving  sidewise  to  and  fro — "he  saw  fit  to 
separate  from — ah — you" — he  paused  to  get  breath — 
"he  could  not  inherit  this  or  any  other  sum — or,  at  least, 
only  a  very  minor  income  of  ten  thousand  a  year;  and 
that  only  on  condition  that  he  should  marry  you."  He 
paused  again.  "  I  should  add,"  he  went  on,  "that  under 
the  will  he  was  given  three  years  in  which  to  indicate  his 
intentions.  That  time  is  now  drawing  to  a  close." 

He  paused,  half  expecting  some  outburst  of  feeling 
from  Jennie,  but  she  only  looked  at  him  fixedly,  her  eyes 
clouded  with  surprise,  distress,  unhappiness.  Now  she 
understood.  Lester  was  sacrificing  his  fortune  for  her. 
His  recent  commercial  venture  was  an  effort  to  rehabili- 
tate himself,  to  put  himself  in  an  independent  position. 
The  recent  periods  of  preoccupation,  of  subtle  unrest, 
and  of  dissatisfaction  over  which  she  had  grieved  were 

353 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

now  explained.  He  was  unhappy,  he  was  brooding  over 
this  prospective  loss,  and  he  had  never  told  her.  So  his 
father  had  really  disinherited  him ! 

Mr.  O'Brien  sat  before  her,  troubled  himself.  He  was 
very  sorry  for  her,  now  that  he  saw  the  expression  of  her 
face.  Still  the  truth  had  to  come  out.  She  ought  to 
know. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  that  she  was  not 
going  to  make  any  immediate  reply,  "that  I  have  been 
the  bearer  of  such  unfortunate  news.  It  is  a  very  painful 
situation  that  I  find  myself  in  at  this  moment,  I  assure 
you.  I  bear  you  no  ill  will  personally — of  course  you 
understand  that.  The  family  really  bears  you  no  ill  will 
now — I  hope  you  believe  that.  As  I  told  your — ah — 
as  I  told  Mr.  Kane,  at  the  time  the  will  was  read,  I  con- 
sidered it  most  unfair,  but,  of  course,  as  a  mere  executive 
under  it  and  counsel  for  his  father,  I  could  do  nothing. 
I  really  think  it  best  that  you  should  know  how  things 
stand,  in  order  that  you  may  help  your — your  hus- 
band"— he  paused,  significantly — "if  possible,  to  some 
solution.  It  seems  a  pity  to  me,  as  it  does  to  the  various 
other  members  of  his  family,  that  he  should  lose  all  this 
money." 

Jennie  had  turned  her  head  away  and  was  staring  at 
the  floor.  She  faced  him  now  steadily.  "He  mustn't 
lose  it,"  she  said;  "it  isn't  fair  that  he  should." 

"I  am  most  delighted  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mrs. — 
Mrs.  Kane,"  he  went  on,  using  for  the  first  time  her  im- 
probable title  as  Lester's  wife,  without  hesitation.  "I 
may  as  well  be  very  frank  with  you,  and  say  that  I  feared 
you  might  take  this  information  in  quite  another  spirit. 
Of  course  you  know  to  begin  with  that  the  Kane  family 
is  very  clannish.  Mrs.  Kane,  your — ah — your  husband's 
mother,  was  a  very  proud  and  rather  distant  woman,  and 
his  sisters  and  brothers  are  rather  set  in  their  notions  as 
to  what  constitute  proper  family  connections.  They 
look  upon  his  relationship  to  you  as  irregular,  and — 

354 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

pardon  me  if  I  appear  to  be  a  little  cruel — as  not  gener- 
ally satisfactory.  As  you  know,  there  had  been  so  much 
talk  in  the  last  few  years  that  Mr.  Kane  senior  did  not 
believe  that  the  situation  could  ever  be  nicely  adjusted, 
so  far  as  the  family  was  concerned.  He  felt  that  his  son 
had  not  gone  about  it  right  in  the  first  place.  One  of  the 
conditions  of  his  will  was  that  if  your  husband — pardon 
me — if  his  son  did  not  accept  the  proposition  in  regard  to 
separating  from  you  and  taking  up  his  rightful  share  of 
the  estate,  then  to  inherit  anything  at  all — the  mere  ten 
thousand  a  year  I  mentioned  before — he  must — ah — he 
must — pardon  me,  I  seem  a  little  brutal,  but  not  inten- 
tionally so — marry  you." 

Jennie  winced.  It  was  such  a  cruel  thing  to  say  this 
to  her  face.  This  whole  attempt  to  live  together  illegally 
had  proved  disastrous  at  every  step.  There  was  only  one 
solution  to  the  unfortunate  business — she  could  see  that 
plainly.  She  must  leave  him,  or  he  must  leave  her. 
There  was  no  other  alternative.  Lester  living  on  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year!  It  seemed  silly. 

Mr.  O'Brien  was  watching  her  curiously.  He  was 
thinking  that  Lester  both  had  and  had  not  made  a 
mistake.  Why  had  he  not  married  her  in  the  first  place  ? 
She  was  charming. 

"There  is  just  one  other  point  which  I  wish  to  make  in 
this  connection,  Mrs.  Kane,"  he  went  on  softly  and 
easily.  "  I  see  now  that  it  will  not  make  any  difference  to 
you,  but  I  am  commissioned  and  in  a  way  constrained  to 
make  it.  I  hope  you  will  take  it  in  the  manner  in  which 
it  is  given.  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  familiar  with 
your  husband's  commercial  interests  or  not?" 

"  No,"  said  Jennie  simply. 

"Well,  in  order  to  simplify  matters,  and  to  make  it 
easier  for  you,  should  you  decide  to  assist  your  husband 
to  a  solution  of  this  very  difficult  situation — frankly,  in 
case  you  might  possibly  decide  to  leave  on  your  own 
account,  and  maintain  a  separate  establishment  of  your 
24  355 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

own — I  am  delighted  to  say  that — ah — any  sum,  say — 
ah—" 

Jennie  rose  and  walked  dazedly  to  one  of  the  windows, 
clasping  her  hands  as  she  went.  Mr.  O'Brien  rose  also. 

"  Well,  be  that  as  it  may.  In  the  event  of  your  decid- 
ing to  ead  the  connection  it  has  been  suggested  that  any 
reasonable  sum  you  might  name,  fifty,  seventy-five,  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars" — Mr.  O'Brien  was  feeling 
very  generous  toward  her — "would  be  gladly  set  aside 
for  your  benefit — put  in  trust,  as  it  were,  so  that  you 
would  have  it  whenever  you  needed  it.  You  would  never 
want  for  anything." 

"Please  don't,"  said  Jennie,  hurt  beyond  the  power 
to  express  herself,  unable  mentally  and  physically  to 
listen  to  another  word.  "Please  don't  say  any  more. 
Please  go  away.  Let  me  alone  now,  please.  I  can  go 
away.  I  will.  It  will  be  arranged.  But  please  don't 
talk  to  me  any  more,  will  you?" 

"I  understand  how  you  feel,  Mrs.  Kane,"  went  on  Mr. 
O'Brien,  coming  to  a  keen  realization  of  her  sufferings. 
"  I  know  exactly,  believe  me.  I  have  said  all  I  intend  to 
say.  It  has  been  very  hard  for  me  to  do  this — very 
hard.  I  regret  the  necessity.  You  have  my  card. 
Please  note  the  name.  I  will  come  any  time  you  suggest, 
or  you  can  write  me.  I  will  not  detain  you  any  longer. 
I  am  sorry.  I  hope  you  will  see  fit  to  say  nothing  to 
your  husband  of  my  visit — it  will  be  advisable  that  you 
should  keep  your  own  counsel  in  the  matter.  I  value 
his  friendship  very  highly,  and  I  am  sincerely  sorry." 

Jennie  only  stared  at  the  floor. 

Mr.  O'Brien  went  out  into  the  hall  to  get  his  coat. 
Jennie  touched  the  electric  button  to  summon  the  maid, 
and  Jeannette  came.  Jennie  went  back  into  the  library, 
and  Mr.  O'Brien  paced  briskly  down  the  front  walk. 
When  she  was  really  alone  she  put  her  doubled  hands 
to  her  chin,  and  stared  at  the  floor,  the  queer  design  of 
the  silken  Turkish  rug  resolving  itself  into  some  curious 

356 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

picture.  She  saw  herself  in  a  small  cottage  somewhere, 
alone  with  Vesta;  she  saw  Lester  living  in  another  world, 
and  beside  him  Mrs.  Gerald.  She  saw  this  house  vacant, 
and  then  a  long  stretch  of  time,  and  then — 

"Oh,"  she  sighed,  choking  back  a  desire  to  cry.  With 
her  hands  she  brushed  away  a  hot  tear  from  each  eye. 
Then  she  got  up. 

"It  must  be,"  she  said  to  herself  in  thought.  "It 
must  be.  It  should  have  been  so  long  ago."  And 
then — "Oh,  thank  God  that  papa  is  deadl  Anyhow,  he 
did  not  live  to  see  this." 


CHAPTER   LIII 

HPHE  explanation  which  Lester  had  concluded  to  be 
1  inevitable,  whether  it  led  to  separation  or  legaliza- 
tion of  their  hitherto  banal  condition,  followed  quickly 
upon  the  appearance  of  Mr.  O'Brien.  On  the  day  Mr. 
O'Brien  called  he  had  gone  on  a  journey  to  Hegewisch, 
a  small  manufacturing  town  in  Wisconsin,  where  he  had 
been  invited  to  witness  the  trial  of  a  new  motor  intended 
to  operate  elevators — with  a  view  to  possible  investment. 
When  he  came  out  to  the  house,  interested  to  tell  Jennie 
something  about  it  even  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
thinking  of  leaving  her,  he  felt  a  sense  of  depression 
everywhere,  for  Jennie,  in  spite  of  the  serious  and  sensi- 
ble conclusion  she  had  reached,  was  not  one  who  could 
conceal  her  feelings  easily.  She  was  brooding  sadly  over 
her  proposed  action,  realizing  that  it  was  best  to  leave 
but  finding  it  hard  to  summon  the  courage  which  would 
let  her  talk  to  him  about  it.  She  could  not  go  without 
telling  him  what  she  thought.  He  ought  to  want  to 
leave  her.  She  was  absolutely  convinced  that  this  one 
course  of  action — separation — was  necessary  and  ad- 
visable. She  could  not  think  of  him  as  daring  to  make 
a  sacrifice  of  such  proportions  for  her  sake  even  if  he 
wanted  to.  It  was  impossible.  It  was  astonishing  to 
her  that  he  had  let  things  go  along  as  dangerously  and 
silently  as  he  had. 

When  he  came  in  Jennie  did  her  best  to  greet  him  with 
her  accustomed  smile,  but  it  was  a  pretty  poor  imitation. 

"Everything  all  right?"  she  asked,  using  her  custom- 
ary phrase  of  inquiry. 

358 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Quite,"  he  answered.     "How  are  things  with  you?" 

"Oh,  just  the  same."  She  walked  with  him  to  the 
library,  and  he  poked  at  the  open  fire  with  a  long-handled 
poker  before  turning  around  to  survey  the  room  generally. 
It  was  five  o'clock  of  a  January  afternoon.  Jennie  had 
gone  to  one  of  the  windows  to  lower  the  shade.  As  she 
came  back  he  looked  at  her  critically.  "You're  not 
quite  your  usual  self,  are  you?"  he  asked,  sensing  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  in  her  attitude. 

"Why,  yes,  I  feel  all  right,"  she  replied,  but  there  was 
a  peculiar  uneven  motion  to  the  movement  of  her  lips — • 
a  rippling  tremor  which  was  unmistakable  to  him. 

"I  think  I  know  better  than  that,"  he  said,  still 
gazing  at  her  steadily.  "  What's  the  trouble  ?  Anything 
happened?" 

She  turned  away  from  him  a  moment  to  get  her  breath 
and  collect  her  senses.  Then  she  faced  him  again. 
"There  is  something,"  she  managed  to  say.  "I  have  to 
tell  you  something." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  he  agreed,  half  smiling,  but  with  a 
feeling  that  there  was  much  of  grave  import  back  of  this. 
"What  is  it?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  biting  her  lips.  She  did 
not  quite  know  how  to  begin.  Finally  she  broke  the 
spell  with:  "There  was  a  man  here  yesterday — a  Mr. 
O'Brien,  of  Cincinnati.  Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know  him.     What  did  he  want?" 

"He  came  to  talk  to  me  about  you  and  your  father's 
will." 

She  paused,  for  his  face  clouded  immediately.  "  Why 
the  devil  should  he  be  talking  to  you  about  my  father's 
will!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  did  he  have  to  say?" 

"Please  don't  get  angry,  Lester,"  said  Jennie  calmly, 
for  she  realized  that  she  must  remain  absolute  mistress 
of  herself  if  anything  were  to  be  accomplished  toward 
the  resolution  of  her  problem.  "He  wanted  to  tell  me 
what  a  sacrifice  you  are  making,"  she  went  on.  "He 

359 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

wished  to  show  me  that  there  was  only  a  little  time  left 
before  you  would  lose  your  inheritance.  Don't  you 
want  to  act  pretty  soon  ?  Don't  you  want  to  leave  me." 

"Damn  him!"  said  Lester  fiercely.  "What  the  devil 
does  he  mean  by  putting  his  nose  in  my  private  affairs  ? 
Can't  they  let  me  alone?"  He  shook  himself  angrily. 
"Damn  them!"  he  exclaimed  again.  "This  is  some  of 
Robert's  work.  Why  should  Knight,  Keatley  &  O'Brien 
be  meddling  in  my  affairs?  This  whole  business  is 
getting  to  be  a  nuisance!"  He  was  in  a  boiling  rage  in 
a  moment,  as  was  shown  by  his  darkening  skin  and 
sulphurous  eyes. 

Jennie  trembled  before  his  anger.  She  did  not  know 
what  to  say. 

He  came  to  himself  sufficiently  after  a  time  to  add : 

"Well.     Just  what  did  he  tell  you? " 

"  He  said  that  if  you  married  me  you  would  only  get 
ten  thousand  a  year.  That  if  you  didn't  and  still  lived 
with  me  you  would  get  nothing  at  all.  If  you  would 
leave  me,  or  I  would  leave  you,  you  would  get  all  of  a 
million  and  a  half.  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  leave 
me  now?" 

She  had  not  intended  to  propound  this  leading  question 
so  quickly,  but  it  came  out  as  a  natural  climax  to  the 
situation.  She  realized  instantly  that  if  he  were  really 
in  love  with  her  he  would  answer  with  an  emphatic  "no." 
If  he  didn't  care,  he  would  hesitate,  he  would  delay, 
he  would  seek  to  put  off  the  evil  day  of  reckoning. 

"  I  don't  see  that,"  he  retorted  irritably.  "  I  don't  see 
that  there's  any  need  for  either  interference  or  hasty 
action.  What  I  object  to  is  their  coming  here  and  mix- 
ing in  my  private  affairs." 

Jennie  was  cut  to  the  quick  by  his  indifference,  his 
wrath  instead  of  affection.  To  her  the  main  point  at 
issue  was  her  leaving  him  or  his  leaving  her.  To  him 
this  recent  interference  was  obviously  the  chief  matter 
for  discussion  and  consideration.  The  meddling  of 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

others  before  he  was  ready  to  act  was  the  terrible  thing. 
She  had  hoped,  in  spite  of  what  she  had  seen,  that  possi- 
bly, because  of  the  long  time  they  had  lived  together  and 
the  things  which  (in  a  way)  they  had  endured  together, 
he  might  have  come  to  care  for  her  deeply — that  she 
had  stirred  some  emotion  in  him  which  would  never 
brook  real  separation,  though  some  seeming  separa- 
tion might  be  necessary.  He  had  not  married  her, 
of  course,  but  then  there  had  been  so  many  things 
against  them.  Now,  in  this  final  hour,  anyhow,  he 
might  have  shown  that  he  cared  deeply,  even  if  he 
had  deemed  it  necessary  to  let  her  go.  She  felt  for 
the  time  being  as  if,  for  all  that  she  had  lived  with 
him  so  long,  she  did  not  understand  him,  and  yet, 
in  spite  of  this  feeling,  she  knew  also  that  she  did. 
He  cared,  in  his  way.  He  could  not  care  for  any  one 
enthusiastically  and  demonstratively.  He  could  care 
enough  to  seize  her  and  take  her  to  himself  as  he  had,  but 
he  could  not  care  enough  to  keep  her  if  something  more 
important  appeared.  He  was  debating  her  fate  now. 
She  was  in  a  quandary,  hurt,  bleeding,  but  for  once  in 
her  life,  determined.  Whether  he  wanted  to  or  not,  she 
must  not  let  him  make  this  sacrifice.  She  must  leave 
him — if  he  would  not  leave  her.  It  was  not  important 
enough  that  she  should  stay.  There  might  be  but  one 
answer.  But  might  he  not  show  affection? 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  act  soon?"  she  con- 
tinued, hoping  that  some  word  of  feeling  would  come 
from  him.  "There  is  only  a  little  time  left,  isn't  there ?" 

Jennie  nervously  pushed  a  book  to  and  fro  on  the 
table,  her  fear  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  keep  up 
appearances  troubling  her  greatly.  It  was  hard  for  her 
to  know  what  to  do  or  say.  Lester  was  so  terrible  when 
he  became  angry.  Still  it  ought  not  to  be  so  hard  for 
him  to  go,  nov/  that  he  had  Mrs.  Gerald,  if  he  only  wished 
to  do  so — and  he  ought  to.  His  fortune  was  so  much 
more  important  to  him  than  anything  she  could  be. 

361 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"Don't  worry  about  that,"  he  replied  stubbornly,  his 
wrath  at  his  brother,  and  his  family,  and  O'Brien  still 
holding  him.  "There's  time  enough.  I  don't  know 
what  I  want  to  do  yet.  I  like  the  effrontery  of  these 
people!  But  I  won't  talk  any  more  about  it;  isn't  din- 
ner nearly  ready?"  He  was  so  injured  in  his  pride  that 
he  scarcely  took  the  trouble  to  be  civil.  He  was  for- 
getting all  about  her  and  what  she  was  feeling.  He 
hated  his  brother  Robert  for  this  affront.  He  would 
have  enjoyed  wringing  the  necks  of  Messrs.  Knight, 
Keatley  &  O'Brien,  singly  and  collectively. 

The  question  could  not  be  dropped  for  good  and  all, 
and  it  came  up  again  at  dinner,  after  Jennie  had  done  her 
best  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  quiet  her  nerves.  They 
could  not  talk  very  freely  because  of  Vesta  and  Jean- 
nette,  but  she  managed  to  get  in  a  word  or  two. 

"I  could  take  a  little  cottage  somewhere,"  she  sug- 
gested softly,  hoping  to  find  him  in  a  modified  mood.  "  I 
would  not  want  to  stay  here.  I  would  not  know  what  to 
do  with  a  big  house  like  this  alone." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  discuss  this  business  any  longer, 
Jennie,"  he  persisted.  "  I'm  in  no  mood  for  it.  I  don't 
know  that  I'm  going  to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  I  don't 
know  what  I'm  going  to  do."  He  was  so  sour  and 
obstinate,  because  of  O'Brien,  that  she  finally  gave  it  up. 
Vesta  was  astonished  to  see  her  stepfather,  usually  so 
courteous,  in  so  grim  a  mood. 

Jennie  felt  a  curious  sense  that  she  might  hold  him  if 
she  would,  for  he  was  doubting;  but  she  knew  also  that 
she  should  not  wish.  It  was  not  fair  to  him.  It  was  not 
fair  to  herself,  or  kind,  or  decent. 

"Oh  yes,  Lester,  you  must,"  she  pleaded,  at  a  later 
time.  "  I  won't  talk  about  it  any  more,  but  you  must. 
I  won't  let  you  do  anything  else." 

There  were  hours  when  it  came  up  afterward — every 
day,  in  fact — in  their  boudoir,  in  the  library,  in  the  dining- 
room,  at  breakfast,  but  not  always  in  words.  Jennie 

362 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

was  worried.  She  was  looking  the  worry  she  felt.  She 
was  sure  that  he  should  be  made  to  act.  Since  he  was 
showing  more  kindly  consideration  for  her,  she  was  all 
the  more  certain  that  he  should  act  soon.  Just  how  to  go 
about  it  she  did  not  know,  but  she  looked  at  him  long- 
ingly, trying  to  help  him  make  up  his  mind.  She  would 
be  happy,  she  assured  herself — she  would  be  happy 
thinking  that  he  was  happy  once  she  was  away  from  him. 
He  was  a  good  man,  most  delightful  in  everything,  per- 
haps, save  his  gift  of  love.  He  really  did  not  love  her — 
could  not  perhaps,  after  all  that  had  happened,  even 
though  she  loved  him  most  earnestly.  But  his  family 
had  been  most  brutal  in  their  opposition,  and  this  had 
affected  his  attitude.  She  could  understand  that,  too. 
She  could  see  now  how  his  big,  strong  brain  might  be 
working  in  a  circle.  He  was  too  decent  to  be  absolutely 
brutal  about  this  thing  and  leave  her,  too  really  con- 
siderate to  look  sharply  after  his  own  interests  as  he 
should,  or  hers — but  he  ought  to. 

"You  must  decide,  Lester,"  she  kept  saying  to  him, 
from  time  to  time.  "  "You  must  let  me  go.  What 
difference  does  it  make?  I  will  be  all  right.  Maybe, 
when  this  thing  is  all  over  you  might  want  to  come  back 
to  me.  If  you  do,  I  will  be  there." 

"I'm  not  ready  to  come  to  a  decision,"  was  his  in- 
variable reply.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  leave  you. 
This  money  is  important,  of  course,  but  money  isn't 
everything.  I  can  live  on  ten  thousand  a  year  if  neces- 
sary. I've  done  it  in  the  past." 

"Oh,  but  you're  so  much  more  placed  in  the  world 
now,  Lester,"  she  argued.  "You  can't  do  it.  Look 
how  much  it  costs  to  run  this  house  alone.  And  a  million 
and  a  half  of  dollars — why,  I  wouldn't  let  you  think  of 
losing  that.  I'll  go  myself  first." 

"Where  would  you  think  of  going  if  it  came  to  that?" 
he  asked  curiously. 

"Oh,  I'd  find  some  place.  Do  you  remember  that 
363 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

little  town  of  Sandwood,  this  side  of  Kenosha?  I  have 
often  thought  it  would  be  a  pleasant  place  to  live." 

"  I  don't  like  to  think  of  this,"  he  said  finally  in  an  out- 
burst of  frankness.  "It  doesn't  seem  fair.  The  con- 
ditions have  all  been  against  this  union  of  ours.  I  sup- 
pose I  should  have  married  you  in  the  first  place.  I'm 
sorry  now  that  I  didn't." 

Jennie  choked  in  her  throat,  but  said  nothing. 

"Anyhow,  this  won't  be  the  last  of  it,  if  I  can  help  it," 
he  concluded.  He  was  thinking  that  the  storm  might 
blow  over;  once  he  had  the  money,  and  then — but  he 
hated  compromises  and  subterfuges. 

It  came  by  degrees  to  be  understood  that,  toward  the 
end  of  February,  she  should  look  around  at  Sandwood 
and  see  what  she  could  find.  She  was  to  have  ample 
means,  he  told  her,  everything  that  she  wanted.  After 
a  time  he  might  come  out  and  visit  her  occasionally. 
And  he  was  determined  in  his  heart  that  he  would  make 
some  people  pay  for  the  trouble  they  had  caused  him. 
He  decided  to  send  for  Mr.  O'.Brien  shortly  and  talk 
things  over.  He  wanted  for  his  personal  satisfaction  to 
tell  him  what  he  thought  of  him. 

At  the  same  time,  in  the  background  of  his  mind, 
moved  the  shadowy  figure  of  Mrs.  Gerald — charming, 
sophisticated,  well  placed  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 
He  did  not  want  to  give  her  the  broad  reality  of  full 
thought,  but  she  was  always  there.  He  thought  and 
thought.  "Perhaps  I'd  better,"  he  half  concluded. 
When  February  came  he  was  ready  to  act. 


CHAPTER   LIV 

little  town  of  Sandwood,  "this  side  of  Keno- 
I  sha,"  as  Jennie  had  expressed  it,  was  only  a  short 
distance  from  Chicago,  an  hour  and  fifteen  minutes  by  the 
local  train.  It  had  a  population  of  some  three  hundred 
families,  dwelling  in  small  cottages,  which  were  scattered 
over  a  pleasant  area  of  lake-shore  property.  They  were 
not  rich  people.  The  houses  were  not  worth  more  than 
from  three  to  five  thousand  dollars  each,  but,  in  most 
cases,  they  were  harmoniously  constructed,  and  the 
surrounding  trees,  green  for  the  entire  year,  gave  them 
a  pleasing  summery  appearance.  Jennie,  at  the  time 
they  had  passed  by  there — it  was  an  outing  taken  behind 
a  pair  of  fast  horses — had  admired  the  look  of  a  little 
white  church  steeple,  set  down  among  green  trees,  and 
the  gentle  rocking  of  the  boats  upon  the  summer  water. 

"I  should  like  to  live  in  a  place  like  this  some  time," 
she  had  said  to  Lester,  and  he  had  made  the  comment 
that  it  was  a  little  too  peaceful  for  him.  "  I  can  imagine 
getting  to  the  place  where  I  might  like  this,  but  not  now. 
It's  too  withdrawn." 

Jennie  thought  of  that  expression  afterward.  It  came 
to  her  when  she  thought  that  the  world  was  trying.  If 
she  had  to  be  alone  ever  and  could  afford  it  she  would 
like  to  live  in  a  place  like  Sandwood.  There  she  would 
have  a  little  garden,  some  chickens,  perhaps,  a  tall  pole 
with  a  pretty  bird-house  on  it,  and  flowers  and  trees  and 
green  grass  everywhere  about.  If  she  could  have  a  little 
cottage  in  a  place  like  this  which  commanded  a  view  of 
the  lake  she  could  sit  of  a  summer  evening  and  sew. 

365 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

Vesta  could  play  about  or  come  home  from  school.  She 
might  have  a  few  friends,  or  not  any.  She  was  beginning 
to  think  that  she  could  do  very  well  living  alone  if  it 
were  not  for  Vesta's  social  needs.  Books  were  pleasant 
things — she  was  finding  that  out — books  like  Irving's 
Sketch  Book,  Lamb's  Elia,  and  Hawthorne's  Twice  Told 
Tales.  Vesta  was  coming  to  be  quite  a  musician  in  her 
way,  having  a  keen  sense  of  the  delicate  and  refined  in 
musical  composition.  She  had  a  natural  sense  of  har- 
mony and  a  love  for  those  songs  and  instrumental  com- 
positions which  reflect  sentimental  and  passionate  moods; 
and  she  could  sing  and  play  quite  well.  Her  voice  was, 
of  course,  quite  untrained — she  was  only  fourteen — but 
it  was  pleasant  to  listen  to.  She  was  beginning  to  show 
the  combined  traits  of  her  mother  and  father — Jennie's 
gentle,  speculative  turn  of  mind,  combined  with  Bran- 
der's  vivacity  of  spirit  and  innate  executive  capacity. 
She  could  talk  to  her  mother  in  a  sensible  way  about 
things,  nature,  books,  dress,  love,  and  from  her  develop- 
ing tendencies  Jennie  caught  keen  glimpses  of  the  new 
worlds  which  Vesta  was  to  explore.  The  nature  of 
modern  school  life,  its  consideration  of  various  divisions 
of  knowledge,  music,  science,  all  came  to  Jennie  watching 
her  daughter  take  up  new  themes.  Vesta  was  evidently 
going  to  be  a  woman  of  considerable  ability — not  irrita- 
bly aggressive,  but  self -constructive.  She  would  be  able 
to  take  care  of  herself.  All  this  pleased  Jennie  and  gave 
her  great  hopes  for  Vesta's  future. 

The  cottage  which  was  finally  secured  at  Sandwood 
was  only  a  story  and  a  half  in  height,  but  it  was  raised 
upon  red  brick  piers  between  which  were  set  green  lat- 
tices and  about  which  ran  a  veranda.  The  house  was 
long  and  narrow,  its  full  length — some  five  rooms  in  a 
row — facing  the  lake.  There  was  a  dining-room  with 
windows  opening  even  with  the  floor,  a  large  library 
with  built-in  shelves  for  books,  and  a  parlor  whose  three 
large  windows  afforded  air  and  sunshine  at  all  times. 

366 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

The  plot  of  ground  in  which  this  cottage  stood  was  one 
hundred  feet  square  and  ornamented  with  a  few  trees. 
The  former  owner  had  laid  out  flower-beds,  and  arranged 
green  hardwood  tubs  for  the  reception  of  various  hardy 
plants  and  vines.  The  house  was  painted  white,  with 
green  shutters  and  green  shingles. 

It  had  been  Lester's  idea,  since  this  thing  must  be, 
that  Jennie  might  keep  the  house  in  Hyde  Park  just  as 
it  was,  but  she  did  not  want  to  do  that.  She  could  not 
think  of  living  there  alone.  The  place  was  too  full  of 
memories.  At  first,  she  did  not  think  she  would  take 
anything  much  with  her,  but  she  finally  saw  that  it  was 
advisable  to  do  as  Lester  suggested — to  fit  out  the  new 
place  with  a  selection  of  silverware,  hangings,  and  furni- 
ture from  the  Hyde  Park  house. 

"You  have  no  idea  what  you  will  or  may  want,"  he 
said.  "Take  everything.  I  certainly  don't  want  any  of 
it." 

A  lease  of  the  cottage  was  taken  for  two  years,  together 
with  an  option  for  an  additional  five  years,  including  the 
privilege  of  purchase.  So  long  as  he  was  letting  her  go, 
Lester  wanted  to  be  generous.  He  could  not  think  of 
her  as  wanting  for  anything,  and  he  did  not  propose  that 
she  should.  His  one  troublesome  thought  was,  what 
explanation  was  to  be  made  to  Vesta.  He  liked  her  very 
much  and  wanted  her  "life  kept  free  of  complications. 

"Why  not  send  her  off  to  a  boarding-school  until 
spring?"  he  suggested  once;  but  owing  to  the  lateness  of 
the  season  this  was  abandoned  as  inadvisable.  Later 
they  agreed  that  business  affairs  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  travel  and  for  Jennie  to  move.  Later  Vesta 
could  be  told  that  Jennie  had  left  him  for  any  reason  she 
chose  to  give.  It  was  a  trying  situation,  all  the  more 
bitter  to  Jennie  because  she  realized  that  in  spite  of  the 
wisdom  of  it  indifference  to  her  was  involved.  He  really 
did  not  care  enough,  as  much  as  he  cared. 

The  relationship  of  man  and  woman  which  we  study  so 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

passionately  in  the  hope  of  finding  heaven  knows  what 
key  to  the  mystery  of  existence  holds  no  more  difficult  or 
trying  situation  than  this  of  mutual  compatibility  broken 
or  disrupted  by  untoward  conditions  which  in  themselves 
have  so  little  to  do  with  the  real  force  and  beauty  of 
the  relationship  itself.  These  days  of  final  dissolution 
in  which  this  household,  so  charmingly  arranged,  the 
scene  of  so  many  pleasant  activities,  was  literally  going  to 
pieces  was  a  period  of  great  trial  to  both  Jennie  and 
Lester.  On  her  part  it  was  one  of  intense  suffering,  for 
she  was  of  that  stable  nature  that  rejoices  to  fix  itself  in  a 
serviceable  and  harmonious  relationship,  and  then  stay 
so.  For  her  life  was  made  up  of  those  mystic  chords  of 
sympathy  and  memory  which  bind  up  the  transient 
elements  of  nature  into  a  harmonious  and  enduring 
scene.  One  of  those  chords — this  home  was  her  home, 
united  and  made  beautiful  by  her  affection  and  con- 
sideration for  each  person  and  every  object.  Now  the 
time  had  come  when  it  must  cease. 

If  she  had  ever  had  anything  before  in  her  life  which 
had  been  like  this  it  might  have  been  easier  to  part  with 
it  now,  though,  as  she  had  proved,  Jennie's  affections 
were  not  based  in  any  way  upon  material  considerations. 
Her  love  of  life  and  of  personality  were  free  from  the 
taint  of  selfishness.  She  went  about  among  these  vari- 
ous rooms  selecting  this  rug,  that  set  of  furniture,  this 
and  that  ornament,  wishing  all  the  time  with  all  her 
heart  and  soul  that  it  need  not  be.  Just  to  think,  in  a 
little  while  Lester  would  not  come  any  more  of  an  even- 
ing! She  would  not  need  to  get  up  first  of  a  morning 
and  see  that  coffee  was  made  for  her  lord,  that  the  table 
in  the  dining-room  looked  just  so.  It  had  been  a  habit 
of  hers  to  arrange  a  bouquet  for  the  table  out  of  the  rich- 
est blooming  flowers  of  the  conservatory,  and  she  had 
always  felt  in  doing  it  that  it  was  particularly  for  him. 
Now  it  would  not  be  necessary  any  more — not  for  him. 
When  one  is  accustomed  to  wait  for  the  sound  of  a  certain 

368 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

carriage- wheel  of  an  evening  grating  upon  your  carriage 
drive,  when  one  is  used  to  listen  at  eleven,  twelve,  and 
one,  waking  naturally  and  joyfully  to  the  echo  of  a 
certain  step  on  the  stair,  the  separation,  the  ending  of 
these  things,  is  keen  with  pain.  These  were  the  thoughts 
that  were  running  through  Jennie's  brain  hour  after 
hour  and  day  after  day. 

Lester  on  his  part  was  suffering  in  another  fashion. 
His  was  not  the  sorrow  of  lacerated  affection,  of  dis- 
carded and  despised  love,  but  of  that  painful  sense  of 
unfairness  which  comes  to  one  who  knows  that  he  is 
making  a  sacrifice  of  the  virtues — kindness,  loyalty, 
affection — to  policy.  Policy  was  dictating  a  very  splen- 
did course  of  action  from  one  point  of  view.  Free  of 
Jennie,  providing  for  her  admirably,  he  was  free  to  go 
his  way,  taking  to  himself  the  mass  of  affairs  which  come 
naturally  with  great  wealth.  He  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  the  thousand  and  one  little  things  which  Jennie 
had  been  accustomed  to  do  for  him,  the  hundred  and 
one  comfortable  and  pleasant  and  delightful  things  she 
meant  to  him.  The  virtues  which  she  possessed  were  quite 
dear  to  his  mind.  He  had  gone  over  them  time  and 
again.  Now  he  was  compelled  to  go  over  them  finally, 
to  see  that  she  was  suffering  without  making  a  sign. 
Her  manner  and  attitude  toward  him  in  these  last  days 
were  quite  the  same  as  they  had  always  been — no  more, 
no  less.  She  was  not  indulging  in  private  hysterics,  as 
another  woman  might  have  done;  she  was  not  pretend- 
ing a  fortitude  in  suffering  she  did  not  feel,  showing  him 
one  face  while  wishing  him  to  see  another  behind  it. 
She  was  calm,  gentle,  considerate — thoughtful  of  him — 
where  he  would  go  and  what  he  would  do,  without 
irritating  him  by  her  inquiries.  He  was  struck  quite 
favorably  by  her  ability  to  take  a  large  situation  largely, 
and  he  admired  her.  There  was  something  to  this 
woman,  let  the  world  think  what  it  might.  It  was  a  shame 
that  her  life  was  passed  under  such  a  troubled  star.  Still 

369 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

a  great  world  was  calling  him.  The  sound  of  its  voice 
was  in  his  ears.  It  had  on  occasion  shown  him  its  bared 
teeth.  Did  he  really  dare  to  hesitate  ? 

The  last  hour  came,  when  having  made  excuses  to  this 
and  that  neighbor,  when  having  spread  the  information 
that  they  were  going  abroad,  when  Lester  had  engaged 
rooms  at  the  Auditorium,  and  the  mass  of  furniture  which 
could  not  be  used  had  gone  to  storage,  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  say  farewell  to  this  Hyde  Park  domicile.  Jennie 
had  visited  Sandwood  in  company  with  Lester  several 
times.  He  had  carefully  examined  the  character  of  the 
place.  He  was  satisfied  that  it  was  nice  but  lonely. 
Spring  was  at  hand,  the  flowers  would  be  something. 
She  was  going  to  keep  a  gardener  and  man  of  all  work. 
Vesta  would  be  with  her. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "only  I  want  you  to  be  com- 
fortable." 

In  the  mean  time  Lester  had  been  arranging  his  per- 
sonal affairs.  He  had  notified  Messrs.  Knight,  Keatley 
&  O'Brien  through  his  own  attorney,  Mr.  Watson,  that 
he  would  expect  them  to  deliver  his  share  of  his  father's 
securities  on  a  given  date.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  as  long  as  he  was  compelled  by  circumstances  to  do 
this  thing  he  would  do  a  number  of  other  things  equally 
ruthless.  He  would  probably  marry  Mrs.  Gerald.  He 
would  sit  as  a  director  in  the  United  Carriage  Company — 
with  his  share  of  the  stock  it  would  be  impossible  to  keep 
him  out.  If  he  had  Mrs.  Gerald's  money  he  would  be- 
come a  controlling  factor  in  the  United  Traction  of 
Cincinnati,  in  which  his  brother  was  heavily  interested, 
and  in  the  Western  Steel  Works,  of  which  his  brother 
was  now  the  leading  adviser.  What  a  different  figure 
he  would  be  now  from  that  which  he  had  been  during  the 
past  few  years! 

Jennie  was  depressed  to  the  point  of  despair.  She 
was  tremendously  lonely.  This  home  had  meant  so 
much  to  her.  When  she  first  came  here  and  neighbors 

370 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

had  begun  to  drop  in  she  had  imagined  herself  on  the 
threshold  of  a  great  career,  that  some  day,  possibly,  Les- 
ter would  marry  her.  Now,  blow  after  blow  had  been 
delivered,  and  the  home  and  dream  were  a  ruin.  Ger- 
hardt  was  gone.  Jeannette,  Harry  Ward,  and  Mrs. 
Frissell  had  been  discharged,  the  furniture  for  a  good 
part  was  in  storage,  and  for  her,  practically,  Lester  was 
no  more.  She  realized  clearly  that  he  would  not  come 
back.  If  he  could  do  this  thing  now,  even  considerately, 
he  could  do  much  more  when  he  was  free  and  away  later. 
Immersed  in  his  great  affairs,  he  would  forget,  of  course. 
And  why  not?  She  did  not  fit  in.  Had  not  every- 
thing— everything  illustrated  that  to  her?  Love  was 
not  enough  in  this  world — that  was  so  plain.  One 
needed  education,  wealth,  training,  the  ability  to  fight 
and  scheme,  She  did  not  want  to  do  that.  She  could 
not. 

The  day  came  when  the  house  was  finally  closed  and 
the  old  life  was  at  an  end.  Lester  traveled  with  Jennie  to 
Sandwood.  He  spent  some  little  while  in  the  house  try- 
ing to  get  her  used  to  the  idea  of  change — it  was  not  so 
bad.  He  intimated  that  he  would  come  again  soon,  but 
he  went  away,  and  all  his  words  were  as  nothing  against 
the  fact  of  the  actual  and  spiritual  separation.  When 
Jennie  saw  him  going  down  the  brick  walk  that  after- 
noon, his  solid,  conservative  figure  clad  in  a  new  tweed 
suit,  his  overcoat  on  his  arm,  self-reliance  and  prosperity 
written  all  over  him,  she  thought  that  she  would  die. 
She  had  kissed  Lester  good-by  and  had  wished  him  joy, 
prosperity,  peace;  then  she  made  an  excuse  to  go  to  her 
bedroom.  Vesta  came  after  a  time,  to  seek  her,  but 
now  her  eyes  were  quite  dry;  everything  had  subsided 
to  a  dull  ache.  The  new  life  was  actually  begun  for  her — 
a  life  without  Lester,  without  Gerhardt,  without  any  one 
save  Vesta. 

"What  curious  things  have  happened  to  me!"  she 
thought,  as  she  went  into  the  kitchen,  for  she  had  deter- 
36  37i 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

mined  to  do  at  least  some  of  her  own  work.  She  needed 
the  distraction.  She  did  not  want  to  think.  If  it  were 
not  for  Vesta  she  would  have  sought  some  regular  out- 
side employment.  Anything  to  keep  from  brooding, 
for  in  that  direction  lay  madness. 


CHAPTER   LV 

THE  social  and  business  worlds  of  Chicago,  Cincin- 
nati, Cleveland,  and  other  cities  saw,  during  the 
year  or  two  which  followed  the  breaking  of  his  relation- 
ship with  Jennie,  a  curious  rejuvenation  in  the  social  and 
business  spirit  of  Lester  Kane.  He  had  become  rather 
distant  and  indifferent  to  certain  personages  and  affairs 
while  he  was  living  with  her,  but  now  he  suddenly  ap- 
peared again,  armed  with  authority  from  a  number  of 
sources,  looking  into  this  and  that  matter  with  the  air  of 
one  who  has  the  privilege  of  power,  and  showing  himself 
to  be  quite  a  personage  from  the  point  of  view  of  finance 
and  commerce.  He  was  older  of  course.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  he  was  in  some  respects  a  mentally  altered 
Lester.  Up  to  the  time  he  had  met  Jennie  he  was  full 
of  the  assurance  of  the  man  who  has  never  known  defeat. 
To  have  been  reared  in  luxury  as  he  had  been,  to  have 
seen  only  the  pleasant  side  of  society,  which  is  so  persis- 
tent and  so  deluding  where  money  is  concerned,  to  have 
been  in  the  run  of  big  affairs  not  because  one  has  created 
them,  but  because  one  is  a  part  of  them  and  because  they 
are  one's  birthright,  like  the  air  one  breathes,  could  not 
help  but  create  one  of  those  illusions  of  solidarity  which 
is  apt  to  befog  the  clearest  brain.  It  is  so  hard  for  us  to 
know  what  we  have  not  seen.  It  is  so  difficult  for  us  to 
feel  what  we  have  not  experienced.  Like  this  world  of 
ours,  which  seems  so  solid  and  persistent  solely  because 
we  have  no  knowledge  of  the  power  which  creates  it, 
Lester's  world  seemed  solid  and  persistent  and  real 
enough  to  him.  It  was  only  when  the  storms  set  in  and 
the  winds  of  adversity  blew  and  he  found  himself  facing 

373 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

the  armed  forces  of  convention  that  he  realized  he  might 
be  mistaken  as  to  the  value  of  his  personality,  that  his 
private  desires  and  opinions  were  as  nothing  in  the  face 
of  a  public  conviction;  that  he  was  wrong.  The  race 
spirit,  or  social  avatar,  the  "Zeitgeist"  as  the  Germans 
term  it,  manifested  itself  as  something  having  a  system 
in  charge,  and  the  organization  of  society  began  to  show 
itself  to  him  as  something  based  on  possibly  a  spiritual, 
or,  at  least,  superhuman  counterpart.  He  could  not  fly 
in  the  face  of  it.  He  could  not  deliberately  ignore  its 
mandates.  The  people  of  his  time  believed  that  some 
particular  form  of  social  arrangement  was  necessary,  and 
unless  he  complied  with  that  he  could,  as  he  saw,  readily 
become  a  social  outcast.  His  own  father  and  mother  had 
turned  on  him — his  brother  and  sisters,  society,  his 
friends.  Dear  heaven,  what  a  to-do  this  action  of  his  had 
created!  Why,  even  the  fates  seemed  adverse.  His 
real  estate  venture  was  one  of  the  most  fortuitously 
unlucky  things  he  had  ever  heard  of.  Why  ?  Were  the 
gods  battling  on  the  side  of  a  to  him  unimportant  social 
arrangement  ?  Apparently.  Anyhow,  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  quit,  and  here  he  was,  vigorous,  determined, 
somewhat  battered  by  the  experience,  but  still  forceful 
and  worth  while. 

And  it  was  a  part  of  the  penalty  that  he  had  become 
measurably  soured  by  what  had  occurred.  He  was 
feeling  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  do  the  first  ugly, 
brutal  thing  of  his  life.  Jennie  deserved  better  of  him. 
It  was  a  shame  to  forsake  her  after  all  the  devotion  she 
had  manifested.  Truly  she  had  played  a  finer  part  than 
he.  Worst  of  all,  his  deed  could  not  be  excused  on  the 
grounds  of  necessity.  He  could  have  lived  on  ten  thou- 
sand a  year;  he  could  have  done  without  the  million  and 
more  which  was  now  his.  He  could  have  done  without 
the  society,  the  pleasures  of  which  had  always  been  a  lure. 
He  could  have,  but  he  had  not,  and  he  had  complicated 
it  all  with  the  thought  of  another  woman. 

374 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

Was  she  as  good  as  Jennie?  That  was  a  question 
which  always  rose  before  him.  Was  she  as  kindly? 
Wasn't  she  deliberately  scheming  under  his  very  eyes  to 
win  him  away  from  the  woman  who  was  as  good  as  his 
wife?  Was  that  admirable?  Was  it  the  thing  a  truly 
big  woman  would  do?  Was  she  good  enough  for  him 
after  all  ?  Ought  he  to  marry  her  ?  Ought  he  to  marry 
any  one  seeing  that  he  really  owed  a  spiritual  if  not 
a  legal  allegiance  to  Jennie?  Was  it  worth  while  for 
any  woman  to  marry  him  ?  These  things  turned  in  his 
brain.  They  haunted  him.  He  could  not  shut  out  the 
fact  that  he  was  doing  a  cruel  and  unlovely  thing. 

Material  error  in  the  first  place  was  now  being  compli- 
cated with  spiritual  error.  He  was  attempting  to  right 
the  first  by  committing  the  second.  Could  it  be  done 
to  his  own  satisfaction?  Would  it  pay  mentally  and 
spiritually?  Would  it  bring  him  peace  of  mind?  He 
was  thinking,  thinking,  all  the  while  he  was  readjusting 
his  life  to  the  old  (or  perhaps  better  yet,  new)  conditions, 
and  he  was  not  feeling  any  happier.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
he  was  feeling  worse — grim,  revengeful.  If  he  married 
Letty  he  thought  at  times  it  would  be  to  use  her  fortune 
as  a  club  to  knock  other  enemies  over  the  head,  and  he 
hated  to  think  he  was  marrying  her  for  that.  He  took 
up  his  abode  at  the  Auditorium,  visited  Cincinnati  in  a 
distant  and  aggressive  spirit,  sat  in  council  with  the 
board  of  directors,  wishing  that  he  was  more  at  peace 
with  himself,  more  interested  in  life.  But  he  did  not 
change  his  policy  in  regard  to  Jennie. 

Of  course  Mrs.  Gerald  had  been  vitally  interested  in 
Lester's  rehabilitation.  She  waited  tactfully  some  little 
time  before  sending  him  any  word ;  finally  she  ventured 
to  write  to  him  at  the  Hyde  Park  address  (as  if  she  did 
not  know  where  he  was) ,  asking,  "  Where  are  you  ?"  By 
this  time  Lester  had  become  slightly  accustomed  to  the 
change  in  his  life.  He  was  saying  to  himself  that  he 
needed  sympathetic  companionship,  the  companionship 

375 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

of  a  woman,  of  course.  Social  invitations  had  begun  to 
come  to  him  now  that  he  was  alone  and  that  his  financial 
connections  were  so  obviously  restored.  He  had  made 
his  appearance,  accompanied  only  by  a  Japanese  valet, 
at  several  country  houses,  the  best  sign  that  he  was  once 
more  a  single  man.  No  reference  was  made  by  any  one 
to  the  past. 

On  receiving  Mrs.  Gerald's  note  he  decided  that  he 
ought  to  go  and  see  her.  He  had  treated  her  rather 
shabbily.  For  months  preceding  his  separation  from 
Jennie  he  had  not  gone  near  her.  Even  now  he  waited 
until  time  brought  a  'phoned  invitation  to  dinner.  This 
he  accepted. 

Mrs.  Gerald  was  at  her  best  as  a  hostess  at  her  per- 
fectly appointed  dinner-table.  Alboni,  the  pianist,  was 
there  on  this  occasion,  together  with  Adam  Rascavage, 
the  sculptor,  a  visiting  scientist  from  England,  Sir  Nelson 
Keyes,  and,  curiously  enough,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Berry  Dodge, 
whom  Lester  had  not  met  socially  in  several  years.  Mrs. 
Gerald  and  Lester  exchanged  the  joyful  greetings  of  those 
who  understand  each  other  thoroughly  and  are  happy  in 
each  other's  company.  "Aren't  you  ashamed  of  your- 
self, sir,"  she  said  to  him  when  he  made  his  appearance, 
"to  treat  me  so  indifferently?  You  are  going  to  be 
punished  for  this." 

"What's  the  damage?"  he  smiled.  "I've  been  ex- 
tremely rushed.  I  suppose  something  like  ninety  stripes 
will  serve  me  about  right." 

"Ninety  stripes,  indeed!"  she  retorted.  "You're 
letting  yourself  off  easy.  What  is  it  they  do  to  evil- 
doers in  Siam?" 

"Boil  them  in  oil,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  anyhow,  that's  more  like.  I'm  thinking  of 
something  terrible." 

"Be  sure  and  tell  me  when  you  decide,"  he  laughed, 
and  passed  on  to  be  presented  to  distinguished  strangers 
by  Mrs.  De  Lincum  who  aided  Mrs.  Gerald  in  receiving. 

376 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

The  talk  was  stimulating.  Lester  was  always  at  his 
ease  intellectually,  and  this  mental  atmosphere  revived 
him.  Presently  he  turned  to  greet  Berry  Dodge,  who 
was  standing  at  his  elbow. 

Dodge  was  all  cordiality.  "Where  are  you  now?"  he 
asked.  "We  haven't  seen  you  in — oh,  when?  Mrs. 
Dodge  is  waiting  to  have  a  word  with  you."  Lester 
noticed  the  change  in  Dodge's  attitude. 

"Some  time,  that's  sure,"  he  replied  easily.  "I'm 
living  at  the  Auditorium." 

"I  was  asking  after  you  the  other  day.  You  know 
Jackson  Du  Bois  ?  Of  course  you  do.  We  were  thinking 
of  running  up  into  Canada  for  some  hunting.  Why  don't 
you  join  us?" 

" I  can't,"  replied  Lester.  "Too  many  things  on  hand 
just  now.  Later,  surely." 

Dodge  was  anxious  to  continue.  He  had  seen  Lester's 
election  as  a  director  of  the  C.  H.  &  D.  Obviously  he 
was  coming  back  into  the  world.  But  dinner  was  an- 
nounced and  Lester  sat  at  Mrs.  Gerald's  right  hand. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  to  pay  me  a  dinner  call  some  after- 
noon after  this?"  asked  Mrs.  Gerald  confidentially  when 
the  conversation  was  brisk  at  the  other  end  of  the  table. 

"I  am,  indeed,"  he  replied,  "and  shortly.  Seriously, 
I've  been  wanting  to  look  you  up.  You  understand 
though  how  things  are  now?" 

"I  do.  I've  heard  a  great  deal.  That's  why  I  want 
you  to  come.  We  need  to  talk  together." 

Ten  days  later  he  did  call.  He  felt  as  if  he  must  talk 
with  her;  he  was  feeling  bored  and  lonely;  his  long  home 
life  with  Jennie  had  made  hotel  life  objectionable.  He 
felt  as  though  he  must  find  a  sympathetic,  intelligent  ear, 
and  where  better  than  here  ?  Letty  was  all  ears  for  his 
troubles.  She  would  have  pillowed  his  solid  head  upon 
her  breast  in  a  moment  if  that  had  been  possible. 

"Well,"  he  said,  when  the  usual  fencing  preliminaries 
were  over,  "what  will  you  have  me  say  in  explanation?" 

377 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"Have  you  burned  your  bridges  behind  you?"  she 
asked. 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  he  replied  gravely.  "And  I  can't 
say  that  I'm  feeling  any  too  joyous  about  the  matter  as  a 
whole." 

"I  thought  as  much,"  she  replied.  "I  knew  how  it 
would  be  with  you.  I  can  see  you  wading  through  this 
mentally,  Lester.  I  have  been  watching  you,  every  step 
of  the  way,  wishing  you  peace  of  mind.  These  things  are 
always  so  difficult,  but  don't  you  know  I  am  still  sure  it's 
for  the  best.  It  never  was  right  the  other  way.  It  never 
could  be.  You  couldn't  afford  to  sink  back  into  a  mere 
shell-fish  life.  You  are  not  organized  temperamentally 
for  that  any  more  than  I  am.  You  may  regret  what  you 
are  doing  now,  but  you  would  have  regretted  the  other 
thing  quite  as  much  and  more.  You  couldn't  work  your 
life  out  that  way — now,  could  you?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Letty.  Really,  I  don't. 
I've  wanted  to  come  and  see  you  for  a  long  time,  but  I 
didn't  think  that  I  ought  to.  The  fight  was  outside — 
you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  do,"  she  said  soothingly. 

"It's  still  inside.  I  haven't  gotten  over  it.  I  don't 
know  whether  this  financial  business  binds  me  sufficiently 
or  not.  I'll  be  frank  and  tell  you  that  I  can't  say  I  love 
her  entirely;  but  I'm  sorry,  and  that's  something." 

"She's  comfortably  provided  for,  of  course,"  she  com- 
mented rather  than  inquired. 

"Everything  she  wants.  Jennie  is  of  a  peculiar  dis- 
position. She  doesn't  want  much.  She's  retiring  by 
nature  and  doesn't  care  for  show.  I've  taken  a  cottage 
for  her  at  Sandwood,  a  little  place  north  of  here  on  the 
lake;  and  there's  plenty  of  money  in  trust,  but,  of 
course,  she  knows  she  can  live  anywhere  she  pleases." 

"  I  understand  exactly  how  she  feels,  Lester.  I  know 
how  you  feel.  She  is  going  to  suffer  very  keenly  for  a 
while — we  all  do  when  we  have  to  give  up  the  thing  we 

378 


JENNIE   GEPHARDT 

love.  But  we  can  get  over  it,  and  we  do.  At  least,  we 
can  live.  She  will.  It  will  go  hard  at  first,  but  after  a 
while  she  will  see  how  it  is,  and  she  won't  feel  any  the 
worse  toward  you." 

"Jennie  will  never  reproach  me,  I  know  that,"  he 
replied.  "  I'm  the  one  who  will  do  the  reproaching.  I'll 
be  abusing  myself  for  some  time.  The  trouble  is  with 
my  particular  turn  of  mind.  I  can't  tell,  for  the  life  of 
me,  how  much  of  this  disturbing  feeling  of  mine  is  habit 
— the  condition  that  I'm  accustomed  to — and  how  much 
is  sympathy.  I  sometimes  think  I'm  the  the  most  point- 
less individual  in  the  world.  I  think  too  much." 

"Poor  Lester!"  she  said  tenderly.  "Well,  I  under- 
stand for  one.  You're  lonely  living  where  you  are, 
aren't  you?" 

"I  am  that,"  he  replied. 

"Why  not  come  and  spend  a  few  days  down  at  West 
Baden?  I'm  going  there." 

"When?"  he  inquired. 

"Next  Tuesday." 

"Let  me  see,"  he  replied.  "I'm  not  sure  that  I  can." 
He  consulted  his  notebook.  "I  could  come  Thursday, 
for  a  few  days." 

"Why  not  do  that?  You  need  company.  We  can 
walk  and  talk  things  out  down  there.  Will  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  he  replied. 

She  came  toward  him,  trailing  a  lavender  lounging 
robe.  "You're  such  a  solemn  philosopher,  sir,"  she 
observed  comfortably,  "working  through  all  the  ramifi- 
cations of  things.  Why  do  you?  You  were  always  like 
that." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  he  replied.  "It's  my  nature  to 
think." 

"Well,  one  thing  I  know — "  and  she  tweaked  his  ear 
gently.  "  You're  not  going  to  make  another  mistake 
through  sympathy  if  I  can  help  it,"  she  said  daringly. 
"  You're  going  to  stay  disentangled  long  enough  to  give 

379 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

yourself  a  chance  to  think  out  what  you  want  to  do. 
You  must.  And  I  wish  for  one  thing  you'd  take  over  the 
management  of  my  affairs.  You  could  advise  me  so 
much  better  than  my  lawyer." 

He  arose  and  walked  to  the  window,  turning  to  look 
back  at  her  solemnly.  "I  know  what  you  want,"  he 
said  doggedly. 

"And  why  shouldn't  I?"  she  demanded,  again  ap- 
proaching him.  She  looked  at  him  pleadingly,  defiantly. 
"Yes,  why  shouldn't  I?" 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  doing,"  he  grumbled; 
but  he  kept  on  looking  at  her;  she  stood  there,  attractive 
as  a  woman  of  her  age  could  be,  wise,  considerate,  full  of 
friendship  and  affection. 

"Letty,"  he  said.  "You  ought  not  to  want  to  marry 
me.  I'm  not  worth  it.  Really  I'm  not.  I'm  too  cyni- 
cal. Too  indifferent.  It  won't  be  worth  anything  in  the 
long  run." 

" It  will  be  worth  something  to  me,"  she  insisted.  "I 
know  what  you  are.  Anyhow,  I  don't  care.  I  want 
you!" 

He  took  her  hands,  then  her  arms.  Finally  he  drew 
her  to  him,  and  put  his  arms  about  her  waist.  "Poor 
Letty!"  he  said;  " I'm  not  worth  it.  You'll  be  sorry." 

"No,  I'll  not,"  she  replied.  "I  know  what  I'm  doing. 
I  don't  care  what  you  think  you  are  worth."  She  laid 
her  cheek  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  want  you." 

"If  you  keep  on  I  venture  to  say  you'll  have  me,"  he 
returned.  He  bent  and  kissed  her. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  and  hid  her  hot  face  against  his 
breast. 

"This  is  bad  business,"  he  thought,  even  as  he  held  her 
within  the  circle  of  his  arms.  "It  isn't  what  I  ought  to 
be  doing." 

Still  he  held  her,  and  now  when  she  offered  her  lips 
coaxingly  he  kissed  her  again  and  again. 


CHAPTER   LVI 

IT  is  difficult  to  say  whether  Lester  might  not  have 
returned  to  Jennie  after  all  but  for  certain  in- 
fluential factors.  After  a  time,  with  his  control  of  his 
portion  of  the  estate  firmly  settled  in  his  hands  and  the 
storm  of  original  feeling  forgotten,  he  was  well  aware  that 
diplomacy — if  he  ignored  his  natural  tendency  to  fulfil 
even  implied  obligations — could  readily  bring  about  an 
arrangement  whereby  he  and  Jennie  could  be  together. 
But  he  was  haunted  by  the  sense  of  what  might  be  called 
an  important  social  opportunity  in  the  form  of  Mrs. 
Gerald.  He  was  compelled  to  set  over  against  his  nat- 
ural tendency  toward  Jennie  a  consciousness  of  what 
he  was  ignoring  in  the  personality  and  fortunes  of  her 
rival,  who  was  one  of  the  most  significant  and  interesting 
figures  on  the  social  horizon.  For  think  as  he  would, 
these  two  women  were  now  persistently  opposed  in  his 
consciousness.  The  one  polished,  sympathetic,  philo- 
sophic— schooled  in  all  the  niceties  of  polite  society,  and 
with  the  means  to  gratify  her  every  wish;  the  other 
natural,  sympathetic,  emotional,  with  no  schooling  in  the 
ways  of  polite  society,  but  with  a  feeling  for  the  beauty  of 
life  and  the  lovely  things  in  human  relationship  which 
made  her  beyond  any  question  an  exceptional  woman. 
Mrs.  Gerald  saw  it  and  admitted  it.  Her  criticism  of 
Lester's  relationship  with  Jennie  was  not  that  she  was 
not  worth  while,  but  that  conditions  made  it  impolitic. 
On  the  other  hand,  union  with  her  was  an  ideal  climax 
for  his  social  aspirations.  This  would  bring  everything 
out  right.  He  would  be  as  happy  with  her  as  he  would 

381 


JENNIE    GERHARD? 

be  with  Jennie — almost — and  he  would  have  the  satis 
faction  of  knowing  that  this  Western  social  and  financial 
world  held  no  more  significant  figure  than  himself.  It 
was  not  wise  to  delay  either  this  latter  excellent  solution 
of  his  material  problems,  and  after  thinking  it  over  long 
and  seriously  he  finally  concluded  that  he  would  not. 
He  had  already  done  Jennie  the  irreparable  wrong  of 
leaving  her.  What  difference  did  it  make  if  he  did  this 
also?  She  was  possessed  of  everything  she  could  possi- 
bly want  outside  of  himself.  She  had  herself  deemed  it 
advisable  for  him  to  leave.  By  such  figments  of  the 
brain,  in  the  face  of  unsettled  and  disturbing  conditions, 
he  was  becoming  used  to  the  idea  of  a  new  alliance. 

The  thing  which  prevented  an  eventual  resumption  of 
relationship  in  some  form  with  Jennie  was  the  constant 
presence  of  Mrs.  Gerald.  Circumstances  conspired  to 
make  her  the  logical  solution  of  his  mental  quandary  at 
this  time.  Alone  he  could  do  nothing  save  to  make 
visits  here  and  there,  and  he  did  not  care  to  do  that.  He 
was  too  indifferent  mentally  to  gather  about  him  as  a 
bachelor  that  atmosphere  which  he  enjoyed  and  which  a 
woman  like  Mrs.  Gerald  could  so  readily  provide.  United 
with  her  it  was  simple  enough.  Their  home  then,  wherever 
it  was,  would  be  full  of  clever  people.  He  would  need  to 
do  little  save  to  appear  and  enjoy  it.  She  understood 
quite  as  well  as  any  one  how  he  liked  to  live.  She  en- 
joyed to  meet  the  people  he  enjoyed  meeting.  There  were 
so  many  things  they  could  do  together  nicely.  He  visited 
West  Baden  at  the  same  time  she  did,  as  she  suggested. 
He  gave  himself  over  to  her  in  Chicago  for  dinners, 
parties,  drives.  Her  house  was  quite  as  much  his  own  as 
hers — she  made  him  feel  so.  She  talked  to  him  about  her 
affairs,  showing  him  exactly  how  they  stood  and  why  she 
wished  him  to  intervene  in  this  and  that  matter.  She 
did  not  wish  him  to  be  much  alone.  She  did  not  want 
him  to  think  or  regret.  She  came  to  represent  to  him  com- 
fort, forgetfulness,  rest  from  care.  With  the  others  he 

382 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

visited  at  her  house  occasionally,  and  it  gradually  became 
rumored  about  that  he  would  marry  her.  Because  of  the 
fact  that  there  had  been  so  much  discussion  of  his  previ- 
ous relationship,  Letty  decided  that  if  ever  this  occurred 
it  should  be  a  quiet  affair.  She  wanted  a  simple  ex- 
planation in  the  papers  of  how  it  had  come  about,  and 
then  afterward,  when  things  were  normal  again  and 
gossip  had  subsided,  she  would  enter  on  a  dazzling  social 
display  for  his  sake. 

"Why  not  let  us  get  married  in  April  and  go  abroad 
for  the  summer? "  she  asked  once,  after  they  had  reached 
a  silent  understanding  that  marriage  would  eventually 
follow.  "Let's  go  to  Japan.  Then  we  can  come  back 
in  the  fall,  and  take  a  house  on  the  drive." 

Lester  had  been  away  from  Jennie  so  long  now  that  the 
first  severe  wave  of  self-reproach  had  passed.  He  was 
still  doubtful,  but  he  preferred  to  stifle  his  misgivings. 
"Very  well,"  he  replied,  almost  jokingly.  "Only  don't 
let  there  be  any  fuss  about  it." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that,  sweet  ? ' '  she  exclaimed,  look- 
ing over  at  him ;  they  had  been  spending  the  evening  to- 
gether quietly  reading  and  chatting. 

"I've  thought  about  it  a  long  while,"  he  replied.  "I 
don't  see  why  not." 

She  came  over  to  him  and  sat  on  his  knee,  putting  her 
arms  upon  his  shoulders. 

"I  can  scarcely  believe  you  said  that,"  she  said,  look- 
ing at  him  curiously. 

"Shall  I  take  it  back?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  no.  It's  agreed  for  April  now.  And  we'll  go  to 
Japan.  You  can't  change  your  mind.  There  won't  be 
any  fuss.  But  my,  what  a  trousseau  I  will  prepare!" 

He  smiled  a  little  constrainedly  as  she  tousled  his 
head ;  there  was  a  missing  note  somewhere  in  this  gamut 
of  happiness ;  perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  getting  old 


CHAPTER   LVII 

IN  the  meantime  Jennie  was  going  her  way,  settling 
herself  in  the  markedly  different  world  in  which  hence- 
forth she  was  to  move.  It  seemed  a  terrible  thing  at 
first — this  life  without  Lester.  Despite  her  own  strong 
individuality,  her  ways  had  become  so  involved  with  his 
that  there  seemed  to  be  no  possibility  of  distentangling 
them.  Constantly  she  was  with  him  in  thought  and 
action,  just  as  though  they  had  never  separated.  Where 
was  he  now?  What  was  he  doing?  What  was  he  say- 
ing? How  was  he  looking?  In  the  mornings  when  she 
woke  it  was  with  the  sense  that  he  must  be  beside  her. 
At  night  as  if  she  could  not  go  to  bed  alone.  He  would 
come  after  a  while  surely — ah,  no,  of  course  he  would 
not  come.  Dear  heaven,  think  of  that!  Never  any 
more.  And  she  wanted  him  so. 

Again  there  were  so  many  little  trying  things  to  ad- 
just, for  a  change  of  this  nature  is  too  radical  to  be  passed 
over  lightly.  The  explanation  she  had  to  make  to  Vesta 
was  of  all  the  most  important.  This  little  girl,  who  was 
old  enough  now  to  see  and  think  for  herself,  was  not 
without  her  surmises  and  misgivings.  Vesta  recalled 
that  her  mother  had  been  accused  of  not  being  married 
to  her  father  when  she  was  born.  She  had  seen  the 
article  about  Jennie  and  Lester  in  the  Sunday  paper  at 
the  time  it  had  appeared — it  had  been  shown  to  her  at 
school — but  she  had  had  sense  enough  to  say  nothing 
about  it,  feeling  somehow  that  Jennie  would  not  like  it. 
Lester's  disappearance  was  a  complete  surprise;  but  she 
had  learned  in  the  last  two  or  three  years  that  her  mother 

384 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

was  very  sensitive,  and  that  she  could  hurt  her  in  unex- 
pected ways.  Jennie  was  finally  compelled  to  tell  Vesta 
that  Lester's  fortune  had  been  dependent  on  his  leaving 
her,  solely  because  she  was  not  of  his  station.  Vesta 
listened  soberly  and  half  suspected  the  truth.  She  felt 
terribly  sorry  for  her  mother,  and,  because  of  Jennie's 
obvious  distress,  she  was  trebly  gay  and  courageous. 
She  refused  outright  the  suggestion  of  going  to  a  board- 
ing-school and  kept  as  close  to  her  mother  as  she  could. 
She  found  interesting  books  to  read  with  her,  insisted 
that  they  go  to  see  plays  together,  played  to  her  on  the 
piano,  and  asked  for  her  mother's  criticisms  on  her  draw- 
ing and  modeling.  She  found  a  few  friends  in  the 
excellent  Sand  wood  school,  and  brought  them  home  of 
an  evening  to  add  lightness  and  gaiety  to  the  cottage 
life.  Jennie,  through  her  growing  appreciation  of  Vesta's 
fine  character,  became  more  and  more  drawn  toward  her. 
Lester  was  gone,  but  at  least  she  had  Vesta.  That  prop 
would  probably  sustain  her  in  the  face  of  a  waning 
existence. 

There  was  also  her  history  to  account  for  to  the 
residents  of  Sandwood.  In  many  cases  where  one  is 
content  to  lead  a  secluded  life  it  is  not  necessary  to  say 
much  of  one's  past,  but  as  a  rule  something  must  be 
said.  People  have  the  habit  of  inquiring — if  they  are  no 
more  than  butchers  and  bakers.  By  degrees  one  must 
account  for  this  and  that  fact,  and  it  was  so  here.  She 
could  not  say  that  her  husband  was  dead.  Lester  might 
come  back.  She  had  to  say  that  she  had  left  him — to 
give  the  impression  that  it  would  be  she,  if  any  one,  who 
would  permit  him  to  return.  This  put  her  in  an  interest- 
ing and  sympathetic  light  in  the  neighborhood.  It  was 
the  most  sensible  thing  to  do.  She  then  settled  down  to 
a  quiet  routine  of  existence,  waiting  what  denouement 
to  her  life  she  could  not  guess. 

Sandwood  life  was  not  without  its  charms  for  a  lover  of 
nature,  and  this,  with  the  devotion  of  Vesta,  offered  some 

385 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

slight  solace.  There  was  the  beauty  of  the  lake,  which, 
with  its  passing  boats,  was  a  never-ending  source  of  joy, 
and  there  were  many  charming  drives  in  the  surrounding 
country.  Jennie  had  her  own  horse  and  carryall — one 
of  the  horses  of  the  pair  they  had  used  in  Hyde  Park. 
Other  household  pets  appeared  in  due  course  of  time, 
including  a  collie,  that  Vesta  named  Rats;  she  had 
brought  him  from  Chicago  as  a  puppy,  and  he  had  grown 
to  be  a  sterling  watch-dog,  sensible  and  affectionate. 
There  was  also  a  cat,  Jimmy  Woods,  so  called  after  a 
boy  Vesta  knew,  and  to  whom  she  insisted  the  cat  bore  a 
marked  resemblance.  There  was  a  singing  thrush, 
guarded  carefully  against  a  roving  desire  for  bird-food  on 
the  part  of  Jimmy  Woods,  and  a  jar  of  goldfish.  So  this 
little  household  drifted  along  quietly  and  dreamily  in- 
deed, but  always  with  the  undercurrent  of  feeling  which 
ran  so  still  because  it  was  so  deep. 

There  was  no  word  from  Lester  for  the  first  few  weeks 
following  his  departure;  he  was  too  busy  following  up 
the  threads  of  his  new  commercial  connections  and  too 
considerate  to  wish  to  keep  Jennie  in  a  state  of  mental 
turmoil  over  communications  which,  under  the  present 
circumstances,  could  mean  nothing.  He  preferred  to  let 
matters  rest  for  the  time  being;  then  a  little  later  he 
would  write  her  sanely  and  calmly  of  how  things  were 
going.  He  did  this  after  the  silence  of  a  month,  saying 
that  he  had  been  pretty  well  pressed  by  commercial 
affairs,  that  he  had  been  in  and  out  of  the  city  frequently 
(which  was  the  truth) ,  and  that  he  would  probably  be 
away  from  Chicago  a  large  part  of  the  time  in  the  future. 
He  inquired  after  Vesta  and  the  condition  of  affairs 
generally  at  Sandwood.  "I  may  get  up  there  one  of 
these  days,"  he  suggested,  but  he  really  did  not  mean  to 
come,  and  Jennie  knew  that  he  did  not. 

Another  month  passed,  and  then  there  was  a  second 
letter  from  him,  not  so  long  as  the  first  one.  Jennie  had 
written  him  frankly  and  fully,  telling  him  just  how 

386 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

things  stood  with  her.  She  concealed  entirely  her  own 
feelings  in  the  matter,  saying  that  she  liked  the  life  very 
much,  and  that  she  was  glad  to  be  at  Sand  wood.  She 
expressed  the  hope  that  now  everything  was  coming  out 
for  the  best  for  him,  and  tried  to  show  him  that  she  was 
really  glad  matters  had  been  settled.  "You  mustn't 
think  of  me  as  being  unhappy,"  she  said  in  one  place, 
"for  I'm  not.  I  am  sure  it  ought  to  be  just  as  it  is,  and 
I  wouldn't  be  happy  if  it  were  any  other  way.  Lay  out 
your  life  so  as  to  give  yourself  the  greatest  happiness, 
Lester,"  she  added.  "You  deserve  it.  Whatever  you 
do  will  be  just  right  for  me.  I  won't  mind."  She  had 
Mrs.  Gerald  in  mind,  and  he  suspected  as  much,  but  he 
felt  that  her  generosity  must  be  tinged  greatly  with  self- 
sacrifice  and  secret  unhappiness.  It  was  the  one  thing 
which  made  him  hesitate  about  taking  that  final  step. 

The  written  word  and  the  hidden  thought — how  they 
conflict !  After  six  months  the  correspondence  was  more 
or  less  perfunctory  on  his  part,  and  at  eight  it  had  ceased 
temporarily. 

One  morning,  as  she  was  glancing  over  the  daily  paper, 
she  saw  among  the  society  notes  the  following  item : 

The  engagement  of  Mrs.  Malcolm  Gerald,  of  4044  Drexel 
Boulevard,  to  Lester  Kane,  second  son  of  the  late  Archi- 
bald Kane,  of  Cincinnati,  was  formally  announced  at  a 
party  given  by  the  prospective  bride  on  Tuesday  to 
a  circle  of  her  immediate  friends.  The  wedding  will  take 
place  in  April. 

The  paper  fell  from  her  hands.  For  a  few  minutes  she 
sat  perfectly  still,  looking  straight  ahead  of  her.  Could 
this  thing  be  so  ?  she  asked  herself.  Had  it  really  come 
at  last  ?  She  had  known  that  it  must  come,  and  yet — and 
yet  she  had  always  hoped  that  it  would  not.  Why  had 
she  hoped  ?  Had  not  she  herself  sent  him  away  ?  Had 
not  she  herself  suggested  this  very  thing  in  a  roundabout 
way?  It  had  come  now.  What  must  she  do?  Stay 

26  387 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

here  as  a  pensioner?  The  idea  was  objectionable  to  her. 
And  yet  he  had  set  aside  a  goodly  sum  to  be  hers  abso- 
lutely. In  the  hands  of  a  trust  company  in  La  Salle 
Street  were  railway  certificates  aggregating  seventy-five 
thousand  dollars,  which  yielded  four  thousand  five  hun- 
dred annually,  the  income  being  paid  to  her  direct. 
Could  she  refuse  to  receive  this  money?  There  was 
Vesta  to  be  considered. 

Jennie  felt  hurt  through  and  through  by  this  d£noue- 
ment,  and  yet  as  she  sat  there  she  realized  that  it  was 
foolish  to  be  angry.  Life  was  always  doing  this  sort  of  a 
thing  to  her.  It  would  go  on  doing  so.  She  was  sure 
of  it.  If  she  went  out  in  the  world  and  earned  her  own 
living  what  difference  would  it  make  to  him?  What 
difference  would  it  make  to  Mrs.  Gerald  ?  Here  she  was 
walled  in  this  little  place,  leading  an  obscure  existence, 
and  there  was  he  out  in  the  great  world  enjoying  life  in 
its  fullest  and  freest  sense.  It  was  too  bad.  But  why 
cry?  Why? 

Her  eyes  indeed  were  dry,  but  her  very  soul  seemed  to 
be  torn  in  pieces  within  her.  She  rose  carefully,  hid  the 
newspaper  at  the  bottom  of  a  trunk,  and  turned  the  key 
upon  it. 


CHAPTER   LVIII 

NOW  that  his  engagement  to  Mrs.  Gerald  was  an 
accomplished,  fact,  Lester  found  no  particular  dif- 
ficulty in  reconciling  himself  to  the  new  order  of  things ; 
undoubtedly  it  was  all  for  the  best.  He  was  sorry  for 
Jennie — very  sorry.  So  was  Mrs.  Gerald;  but  there  was 
a  practical  unguent  to  her  grief  in  the  thought  that  it 
was  best  for  both  Lester  and  the  girl.  He  would  be 
happier — was  so  now.  And  Jennie  would  eventually 
realize  that  she  had  done  a  wise  and  kindly  thing;  she 
would  be  glad  in  the  consciousness  that  she  had  acted  so 
unselfishly.  As  for  Mrs.  Gerald,  because  of  her  indiffer- 
ence to  the  late  Malcolm  Gerald,  and  because  she  was 
realizing  the  dreams  of  her  youth  in  getting  Lester  at 
last — even  though  a  little  late — she  was  intensely  happy. 
She  could  think  of  nothing  finer  than  this  daily  life  with 
him — the  places  they  would  go,  the  things  they  would 
see.  Her  first  season  in  Chicago  as  Mrs.  Lester  Kane 
the  following  winter  was  going  to  be  something  worth 
remembering.  And  as  for  Japan — that  was  almost  too 
good  to  be  true. 

Lester  wrote  to  Jennie  of  his  coming  marriage  to  Mrs. 
Gerald.  He  said  that  he  had  no  explanation  to  make. 
It  wouldn't  be  worth  anything  if  he  did  make  it.  He 
thought  he  ought  to  marry  Mrs.  Gerald.  He  thought 
he  ought  to  let  her  (Jennie)  know.  He  hoped  she  was 
well.  He  wanted  her  always  to  feel  that  he  had  her 
real  interests  at  heart.  He  would  do  anything  in  his 
power  to  make  life  as  pleasant  and  agreeable  for  her  as 
possible.  He  hoped  she  would  forgive  him.  And  would 

389 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

she  remember  him  affectionately  to  Vesta  ?  She  ought 
to  be  sent  to  a  finishing  school. 

Jennie  understood  the  situation  perfectly.  She  knew 
that  Lester  had  been  drawn  to  Mrs.  Gerald  from  the  time 
he  met  her  at  the  Carlton  in  London.  She  had  been 
angling  for  him.  Now  she  had  him.  It  was  all  right. 
She  hoped  he  would  be  happy.  She  was  glad  to  write 
and  tell  him  so,  explaining  that  she  had  seen  the  an- 
nouncement in  the  papers.  Lester  read  her  letter 
thoughtfully;  there  was  more  between  the  lines  than 
the  written  words  conveyed.  Her  fortitude  was  a  charm 
to  him  even  in  this  hour.  In  spite  of  all  he  had  done 
and  what  he  was  now  going  to  do,  he  realized  that  he  still 
cared  for  Jennie  in  a  way.  She  was  a  noble  and  a  charming 
woman.  If  everything  else  had  been  all  right  he  would 
not  be  going  to  marry  Mrs.  Gerald  at  all.  And  yet  he 
did  marry  her. 

The  ceremony  was  performed  on  April  fifteenth,  at  the 
residence  of  Mrs.  Gerald,  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  officiat- 
ing. Lester  was  a  poor  example  of  the  faith  he  occasion- 
ally professed.  He  was  an  agnostic,  but  because  he  had 
been  reared  in  the  church  he  felt  that  he  might  as  well  be 
married  in  it.  Some  fifty  guests,  intimate  friends,  had 
been  invited.  The  ceremony  went  off  with  perfect 
smoothness.  There  were  jubilant  congratulations  and 
showers  of  rice  and  confetti.  While  the  guests  were  still 
eating  and  drinking  Lester  and  Letty  managed  to  escape 
by  a  side  entrance  into  a  closed  carriage,  and  were  off. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  there  was  pursuit  pell-mell  on  the 
part  of  the  guests  to  the  Chicago,  Rock  Island  and 
Pacific  depot ;  but  by  that  time  the  happy  couple  were 
in  their  private  car,  and  the  arrival  of  the  rice  throwers 
made  no  difference.  More  champagne  was  opened; 
then  the  starting  of  the  train  ended  all  excitement,  and 
the  newly  wedded  pair  were  at  last  safely  off. 

"Well,  now  you  have  me,"  said  Lester,  cheerfully 
pulling  Letty  down  beside  him  into  a  seat,  "what  of  it?" 

390 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

"This  of  it,"  she  exclaimed,  and  hugged  him  close, 
kissing  him  fervently.  In  four  days  they  were  in  San 
Francisco,  and  two  days  later  on  board  a  fast  steamship 
bound  for  the  land  of  the  Mikado. 

In  the  meanwhile  Jennie  was  left  to  brood.  The 
original  announcement  in  the  newspapers  had  said  that 
he  was  to  be  married  in  April,  and  she  had  kept  close 
watch  for  additional  information.  Finally  she  learned 
that  the  wedding  would  take  place  on  April  fifteenth  at 
the  residence  of  the  prospective  bride,  the  hour  being 
high  noon.  In  spite  of  her  feeling  of  resignation,  Jennie 
followed  it  all  hopelessly,  like  a  child,  hungry  and  forlorn, 
looking  into  a  lighted  window  at  Christmas  time. 

On  the  day  of  the  wedding  she  waited  miserably  for 
twelve  o'clock  to  strike;  it  seemed  as  though  she  were 
really  present  and  looking  on.  She  could  see  in  her 
mind's  eye  the  handsome  residence,  the  carriages,  the 
guests,  the  feast,  the  merriment,  the  ceremony — all. 
Telepathically  and  psychologically  she  received  im- 
pressions of  the  private  car  and  of  the  joyous  journey 
they  were  going  to  take.  The  papers  had  stated  that 
they  would  spend  their  honeymoon  in  Japan.  Their 
honeymoon!  Her  Lester!  And  Mrs.  Gerald  was  so 
attractive.  She  could  see  her  now — the  new  Mrs.  Kane 
— the  only  Mrs.  Kane  that  ever  was,  lying  in  his  arms. 
He  had  held  her  so  once.  He  had  loved  her.  Yes,  he 
had !  There  was  a  solid  lump  in  her  throat  as  she  thought 
of  this.  Oh,  dear!  She  sighed  to  herself,  and  clasped 
her  hands  forcefully;  but  it  did  no  good.  She  was  just 
as  miserable  as  before. 

When  the  day  was  over  she  was  actually  relieved;  any- 
way, the  deed  was  done  and  nothing  could  change  it. 
Vesta  was  sympathetically  aware  of  what  was  happen- 
ing, but  kept  silent.  She  too  had  seen  the  report  in  the 
newspaper.  When  the  first  and  second  day  after  had 
passed  Jennie  was  much  calmer  mentally,  for  now  she 
was  face  to  face  with  the  inevitable.  But  it  was  weeks 

391 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

before  the  sharp  pain  dulled  to  the  old  familiar  ache. 
Then  there  were  months  before  they  would  be  back 
again,  though,  of  course,  that  made  no  difference  now. 
Only  Japan  seemed  so  far  off,  and  somehow  she  had 
liked  the  thought  that  Lester  was  near  her — somewhere 
in  the  city. 

The  spring  and  summer  passed,  and  now  it  was  early  in 
October.  One  chilly  day  Vesta  came  home  from  school 
complaining  of  a  headache.  When  Jennie  had  given  her 
hot  milk — -SL  favorite  remedy  of  her  mother's — and  had 
advised  a  cold  towel  for  the  back  of  her  head,  Vesta  went 
to  her  room  and  lay  down.  The  following  morning  she 
had  a  slight  fever.  This  lingered  while  the  local  physi- 
cian, Dr.  Emory,  treated  her  tentatively,  suspecting 
that  it  might  be  typhoid,  of  which  there  were  several 
cases  in  the  village.  This  doctor  told  Jennie  that  Vesta 
was  probably  strong  enough  constitutionally  to  shake  it 
off,  but  it  might  be  that  she  would  have  a  severe  siege. 
Mistrusting  her  own  skill  in  so  delicate  a  situation,  Jennie 
sent  to  Chicago  for  a  trained  nurse,  and  then  began  a 
period  of  watchfulness  which  was  a  combination  of  fear, 
longing,  hope,  and  courage. 

Now  there  could  be  no  doubt;  the  disease  was  typhoid. 
Jennie  hesitated  about  communicating  with  Lester,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  in  New  York;  the  papers  had  said 
that  he  intended  to  spend  the  winter  there.  But  when 
the  doctor,  after  watching  the  case  for  a  week,  pro- 
nounced it  severe,  she  thought  she  ought  to  write  any- 
how, for  no  one  could  tell  what  would  happen.  Lester 
had  been  so  fond  of  Vesta.  He  would  probably  want  to 
know. 

The  letter  sent  to  him  did  not  reach  him,  for  at  the 
time  it  arrived  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  West  Indies. 
Jennie  was  compelled  to  watch  alone  by  Vesta's  sick- 
bed, for  although  sympathetic  neighbors,  realizing  the 
pathos  of  the  situation  were  attentive,  they  could  not 
supply  the  spiritual  consolation  which  only  those  who 

392 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

truly  love  us  can  give.  There  was  a  period  when  Vesta 
appeared  to  be  rallying,  and  both  the  physician  and  the 
nurse  were  hopeful;  but  afterward  she  became  weaker. 
It  was  said  by  Dr.  Emory  that  her  heart  and  kidneys 
had  become  affected. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  fact  had  to  be  faced  that 
death  was  imminent.  The  doctor's  face  was  grave,  the 
nurse  was  non-committal  in  her  opinion.  Jennie  hovered 
about,  praying  the  only  prayer  that  is  prayer — the 
fervent  desire  of  her  heart  concentrated  on  the  one  issue 
— that  Vesta  should  get  well.  The  child  had  come  so 
close  to  her  during  the  last  few  years !  She  understood 
her  mother.  She  was  beginning  to  realize  clearly  what 
her  life  had  been.  And  Jennie,  through  her,  had  grown 
to  a  broad  understanding  of  responsibility.  She  knew 
now  what  it  meant  to  be  a  good  mother  and  to  have 
children.  If  Lester  had  not  objected  to  it,  and  she  had 
been  truly  married,  she  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
others.  Again,  she  had  always  felt  that  she  owed  Vesta 
so  much — at  least  a  long  and  happy  life  to  make  up  to 
her  for  the  ignominy  of  her  birth  and  rearing.  Jennie 
had  been  so  happy  during  the  past  few  years  to  see  Vesta 
growing  into  beautiful,  graceful,  intelligent  woman- 
hood. And  now  she  was  dying.  Dr.  Emory  finally 
sent  to  Chicago  for  a  physician  friend  of  his,  who  came 
to  consider  the  case  with  him.  He  was  an  old  man, 
grave,  sympathetic,  understanding.  He  shook  his  head. 
"The  treatment  has  been  correct,"  he  said.  "Her 
system  does  not  appear  to  be  strong  enough  to  endure 
the  strain.  Some  physiques  are  more  susceptible  to  this 
malady  than  others."  It  was  agreed  that  if  within  three 
days  a  change  for  the  better  did  not  come  the  end  was 
close  at  hand. 

No  one  can  conceive  the  strain  to  which  Jennie's  spirit 
was  subjected  by  this  intelligence,  for  it  was  deemed  best 
that  she  should  know.  She  hovered  about  white-faced 
— feeling  intensely,  but  scarcely  thinking.  She  seemed 

393 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

to  vibrate  consciously  with  Vesta's  altering  states.  If 
there  was  the  least  improvement  she  felt  it  physically. 
If  there  was  a  decline  her  barometric  temperament 
registered  the  fact. 

There  was  a  Mrs.  Davis,  a  fine,  motherly  soul  of  fifty, 
stout  and  sympathetic,  who  lived  four  doors  from  Jennie, 
and  who  understood  quite  well  how  she  was  feeling.  She 
had  co-operated  with  the  nurse  and  doctor  from  the  start 
to  keep  Jennie's  mental  state  as  nearly  normal  as  possible. 

"Now,  you  just  go  to  your  room  and  lie  down,  Mrs. 
Kane,"  she  would  say  to  Jennie  when  she  found  her 
watching  helplessly  at  the  bedside  or  wandering  to  and 
fro,  wondering  what  to  do.  "I'll  take  charge  of  every- 
thing. I'll  do  just  what  you  would  do.  Lord  bless  you, 
don't  you  think  I  know?  I've  been  the  mother  of  seven 
and  lost  three.  Don't  you  think  I  understand?"  Jen- 
nie put  her  head  on  her  big,  warm  shoulder  one  day  and 
cried.  Mrs.  Davis  cried  with  her.  "I  understand,"  she 
said.  "There,  there,  you  poor  dear.  Now  you  come 
with  me."  And  she  led  her  to  her  sleeping- room. 

Jennie  could  not  be  away  long.  She  came  back  after 
a  few  minutes  unrested  and  unrefreshed.  Finally  one 
midnight,  when  the  nurse  had  persuaded  her  that  all 
would  be  well  until  morning  anyhow,  there  came  a 
hurried  stirring  in  the  sick-room.  Jennie  was  lying 
down  for  a  few  minutes  on  her  bed  in  the  adjoining  room. 
She  heard  it  and  arose.  Mrs.  Davis  had  come  in,  and  she 
and  the  nurse  were  conferring  as  to  Vesta's  condition — 
standing  close  beside  her. 

Jennie  understood.  She  came  up  and  looked  at  her 
daughter  keenly.  Vesta's  pale,  waxen  face  told  the 
story.  She  was  breathing  faintly,  her  eyes  closed. 
"She's  very  weak,"  whispered  the  nurse.  Mrs.  Davis 
took  Jennie's  hand. 

The  moments  passed,  and  after  a  time  the  clock  in  the 
hall  struck  one.  Miss  Murfree,  the  nurse,  moved  to  the 
medicine-table  several  times,  wetting  a  soft  piece  of 

394 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

cotton  cloth  with  alcohol  and  bathing  Vesta's  lips.  At 
the  striking  of  the  half-hour  there  was  a  stir  of  the  weak 
body — a  profound  sigh.  Jennie  bent  forward  eagerly, 
but  Mrs.  Davis  drew  her  back.  The  nurse  came  and 
motioned  them  away.  Respiration  had  ceased. 

Mrs.  Davis  seized  Jennie  firmly.  "There,  there,  you 
poor  dear,"  she  whispered  when  she  began  to  shake.  "  It 
can't  be  helped.  Don't  cry." 

Jennie  sank  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed  and  caressed 
Vesta's  still  warm  hand.  "Oh  no,  Vesta,"  she  pleaded. 
"Not  you!  Not  you!" 

"There,  dear,  come  now,"  soothed  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Davis.  "Can't  you  leave  it  all  in  God's  hands?  Can't 
you  believe  that  everything  is  for  the  best?" 

Jennie  felt  as  if  the  earth  had  fallen.  All  ties  were 
broken.  There  was  no  light  anywhere  in  the  immense 
darkness  of  her  existence. 


CHAPTER   LIX 

THIS  added  blow  from  inconsiderate  fortune  was 
quite  enough  to  throw  Jennie  back  into  that  state 
of  hyper-melancholia  from  which  she  had  been  drawn 
with  difficulty  during  the  few  years  of  comfort  and 
affection  which  she  had  enjoyed  with  Lester  in  Hyde 
Park.  It  was  really  weeks  before  she  could  realize  that 
Vesta  was  gone.  The  emaciated  figure  which  she  saw 
for  a  day  or  two  after  the  end  did  not  seem  like 
Vesta.  Where  was  the  joy  and  lightness,  the  quickness 
of  motion,  the  subtle  radiance  of  health?  All  gone. 
Only  this  pale,  lily-hued  shell — and  silence.  Jennie  had 
no  tears  to  shed;  only  a  deep,  insistent  pain  to  feel.  If 
only  some  counselor  of  eternal  wisdom  could  have 
whispered  to  her  that  obvious  and  convincing  truth — 
there  are  no  dead. 

Miss  Murfree,  Dr.  Emory,  Mrs.  Davis,  and  some 
others  among  the  neighbors  were  most  sympathetic  and 
considerate.  Mrs.  Davis  sent  a  telegram  to  Lester  say- 
ing that  Vesta  was  dead,  but,  being  absent,  there  was  no 
response.  The  house  was  looked  after  with  scrupulous 
care  by  others,  for  Jennie  was  incapable  of  attending  to 
it  herself.  She  walked  about  looking  at  things  which 
Vesta  had  owned  or  liked — things  which  Lester  or  she 
had  given  her — sighing  over  the  fact  that  Vesta  would 
not  need  or  use  them  any  more.  She  gave  instruc- 
tions that  the  body  should  be  taken  to  Chicago  and 
buried  in  the  Cemetery  of  the  Redeemer,  for  Lester,  at 
the  time  of  Gerhardt's  death,  had  purchased  a  small  plot 
of  ground  there.  She  also  expressed  her  wish  that  the 

396 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

minister  of  the  little  Lutheran  church  in  Cottage  Grove 
Avenue,  where  Gerhardt  had  attended,  should  be  re- 
quested to  say  a  few  words  at  the  grave.  There  were  the 
usual  preliminary  services  at  the  house.  The  local 
Methodist  minister  read  a  portion  of  the  first  epistle  of 
Paul  to  the  Thessalonians,  and  a  body  of  Vesta's  class- 
mates sang  "Nearer  My  God  to  Thee."  There  were 
flowers,  a  white  coffin,  a  world  of  sympathetic  expressions, 
and  then  Vesta  was  taken  away.  The  coffin  was  prop- 
erly incased  for  transportation,  put  on  the  train,  and 
finally  delivered  at  the  Lutheran  cemetery  in  Chicago. 

Jennie  moved  as  one  in  a  dream.  She  was  dazed,  al- 
most to  the  point  of  insensibility.  Five  of  her  neighbor- 
hood friends,  at  the  solicitation  of  Mrs.  Davis,  were  kind 
enough  to  accompany  her.  At  the  grave-side  when  the 
body  was  finally  lowered  she  looked  at  it,  one  might  have 
thought  indifferently,  for  she  was  numb  from  suffering. 
She  returned  to  Sandwood  after  it  was  all  over,  saying 
that  she  would  not  stay  long.  She  wanted  to  come 
back  to  Chicago,  where  she  could  be  near  Vesta  and 
Gerhardt. 

After  the  funeral  Jennie  tried  to  think  of  her  future. 
She  fixed  her  mind  on  the  need  of  doing  something, 
even  though  she  did  not  need  to.  She  thought  that  she 
might  like  to  try  nursing,  and  could  start  at  once  to 
obtain  the  training  which  was  required.  She  also 
thought  of  William.  He  was  unmarried,  and  perhaps  he 
might  be  willing  to  come  and  live  with  her.  Only  she  did 
not  know  where  he  was,  and  Bass  was  also  in  ignorance 
of  his  whereabouts.  She  finally  concluded  that  she 
would  try  to  get  work  in  a  store.  Her  disposition 
was  against  idleness.  She  could  not  live  alone  here, 
and  she  could  not  have  her  neighbors  sympathetically 
worrying  over  what  was  to  become  of  her.  Miserable 
as  she  was,  she  would  be  less  miserable  stopping  in  a 
hotel  in  Chicago,  and  looking  for  something  to  do,  or 
living  in  a  cottage  somewhere  near  the  Cemetery  of  the 

397 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

Redeemer.  It  also  occurred  to  her  that  she  might 
adopt  a  homeless  child.  There  were  a  number  of  orphan 
asylums  in  the  city. 

Some  three  weeks  after  Vesta's  death  Lester  returned 
to  Chicago  with  his  wife,  and  discovered  the  first  letter, 
the  telegram,  and  an  additional  note  telling  him  that 
Vesta  was  dead.  He  was  truly  grieved,  for  his  affection 
for  the  girl  had  been  real.  He  was  very  sorry  for  Jennie, 
and  he  told  his  wife  that  he  would  have  to  go  out  and  see 
her.  He  was  wondering  what  she  would  do.  She  could 
not  live  alone.  Perhaps  he  could  suggest  something 
which  would  help  her.  He  took  the  train  to  Sandwood, 
but  Jennie  had  gone  to  the  Hotel  Tremont  in  Chicago. 
He  went  there,  but  Jennie  had  gone  to  her  daughter's 
grave;  later  he  called  again  and  found  her  in.  When  the 
boy  presented  his  card  she  suffered  an  upwelling  of  feel- 
ing— a  wave  that  was  more  intense  than  that  with  which 
she  had  received  him  in  the  olden  days,  for  now  her  need 
of  him  was  greater. 

Lester,  in  spite  of  the  glamor  of  his  new  affection  and 
the  restoration  of  his  wealth,  power,  and  dignities,  had 
had  time  to  think  deeply  of  what  he  had  done.  His 
original  feeling  of  doubt  and  dissatisfaction  with  himself 
had  never  wholly  quieted.  It  did  not  ease  him  any  to 
know  that  he  had  left  Jennie  comfortably  fixed,  for  it 
was  always  so  plain  to  him  that  money  was  not  the  point 
at  issue  with  her.  Affection  was  what  she  craved. 
Without  it  she  was  like  a  rudderless  boat  on  an  endless 
sea,  and  he  knew  it.  She  needed  him,  and  he  was 
ashamed  to  think  that  his  charity  had  not  outweighed 
his  sense  of  self-preservation  and  his  desire  for  material 
advantage.  To-day  as  the  elevator  carried  him  up  to 
her  room  he  was  really  sorry,  though  he  knew  now  that 
no  act  of  his  could  make  things  right.  He  had  been  to 
blame  from  the  very  beginning,  first  for  taking  her, 
then  for  failing  to  stick  by  a  bad  bargain.  Well,  it  could 

398 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

not  be  helped  now.  The  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  be 
fair,  to  counsel  with  her,  to  give  her  the  best  of  his  sym- 
pathy and  advice. 

''Hello,  Jennie,"  he  said  familiarly  as  she  opened  the 
door  to  him  in  her  hotel  room,  his  glance  taking  in  the 
ravages  which  death  and  suffering  had  wrought.  She 
was  thinner,  her  face  quite  drawn  and  colorless,  her  eyes 
larger  by  contrast.  "I'm  awfully  sorry  about  Vesta," 
he  said  a  little  awkwardly.  "I  never  dreamed  anything 
like  that  could  happen." 

It  was  the  first  word  of  comfort  which  had  meant  any- 
thing to  her  since  Vesta  died — since  Lester  had  left  her, 
in  fact.  It  touched  her  that  he  had  come  to  sympathize; 
for  the  moment  she  could  not  speak.  Tears  welled  over 
her  eyelids  and  down  upon  her  cheeks. 

"Don't  cry,  Jennie,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  around 
her  and  holding  her  head  to  his  shoulder.  "I'm  sorry. 
I've  been  sorry  for  a  good  many  things  that  can't  be 
helped  now.  I'm  intensely  sorry  for  this.  Where  did 
you  bury  her?" 

"Beside  papa,"  she  said,  sobbing. 

"Too  bad,"  he  murmured,  and  held  her  in  silence. 
She  finally  gained  control  of  herself  sufficiently  to  step 
away  from  him ;  then  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  handker- 
chief, she  asked  him  to  sit  down. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  he  went  on,  "that  this  should  have 
happened  while  I  was  away.  I  would  have  been  with 
you  if  I  had  been  here.  I  suppose  you  won't  want  to 
live  out  at  Sand  wood  now?" 

"  I  can't,  Lester,"  she  replied.  "  I  couldn't  stand 
it." 

"Where  are  you  thinking  of  going?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  yet.  I  didn't  want  to  be  a  bother 
to  those  people  out  there.  I  thought  I'd  get  a  little  house 
somewhere  and  adopt  a  baby  maybe,  or  get  something  to 
do.  I  don't  like  to  be  alone." 

"That  isn't  a  bad  idea,"  he  said,  "that  of  adopting  a 
399 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

baby.  It  would  be  a  lot  of  company  for  you.  You 
know  how  to  go  about  getting  one?" 

"You  just  ask  at  one  of  these  asylums,  don't  you?" 

"  I  think  there's  something  more  than  that,"  he  replied 
thoughtfully.  "There  are  some  formalities — I  don't 
know  what  they  are.  They  try  to  keep  control  of  the 
child  in  some  way.  You  had  better  consult  with  Watson 
and  get  him  to  help  you.  Pick  out  your  baby,  and  then 
let  him  do  the  rest.  I'll  speak  to  him  about  it." 

Lester  saw  that  she  needed  companionship  badly. 
"  Where  is  your  brother  George  ?"  he  asked. 

"He's  in  Rochester,  but  he  couldn't  come.  Bass  said 
he  was  married,"  she  added. 

"There  isn't  any  other  member  of  the  family  you 
could  persuade  to  come  and  live  with  you?" 

"I  might  get  William,  but  I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

"  Why  not  try  that  new  section  west  of  Jackson  Park," 
he  suggested,  "if  you  want  a  house  here  in  Chicago? 
I  see  some  nice  cottages  out  that  way.  You  needn't  buy. 
Just  rent  until  you  see  how  well  you're  satisfied." 

Jennie  thought  this  good  advice  because  it  came  from 
Lester.  It  was  good  of  him  to  take  this  much  interest 
in  her  affairs.  She  wasn't  entirely  separated  from  him 
after  all.  He  cared  a  little.  She  asked  him  how  his  wife 
was,  whether  he  had  had  a  pleasant  trip,  whether  he  was 
going  to  stay  in  Chicago.  All  the  while  he  was  thinking 
that  he  had  treated  her  badly.  He  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  down  into  Dearborn  Street,  the  world  of 
traffic  below  holding  his  attention.  The  great  mass  of 
trucks  and  vehicles,  the  counter  streams  of  hurrying 
pedestrians,  seemed  like  a  puzzle.  So  shadows  march  in 
a  dream.  It  was  growing  dusk,  and  lights  were  spring- 
ing up  here  and  there. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,  Jennie,"  said  Lester, 
finally  rousing  himself  from  his  fit  of  abstraction.  "I 
may  seem  peculiar  to  you,  after  all  that  has  happened, 
but  I  still  care  for  you — in  my  way.  I've  thought  of  you 

400 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

right  along  since  I  left.  I  thought  it  good  business  to 
leave  you — the  way  things  were.  I  thought  I  liked 
Letty  well  enough  to  marry  her.  From  one  point  of 
view  it  still  seems  best,  but  I'm  not  so  much  happier. 
I  was  just  as  happy  with  you  as  I  ever  will  be.  It  isn't 
myself  that's  important  in  this  transaction  apparently; 
the  individual  doesn't  count  much  in  the  situation.  I 
don't  know  whether  you  see  what  I'm  driving  at,  but  all 
of  us  are  more  or  less  pawns.  We're  moved  about  like 
chessmen  by  circumstances  over  which  we  have  no  con- 
trol." 

"I  understand,  Lester,"  she  answered.  "I'm  not 
complaining.  I  know  it's  for  the  best." 

"After  all,  life  is  more  or  less  of  a  farce,"  he  went  on 
a  little  bitterly.  "It's  a  silly  show.  The  best  we  can 
do  is  to  hold  our  personality  intact.  It  doesn't  appear 
that  integrity  has  much  to  do  with  it." 

Jennie  did  not  quite  grasp  what  he  was  talking  about, 
but  she  knew  it  meant  that  he  was  not  entirely  satisfied 
with  himself  and  was  sorry  for  her. 

"Don't  worry  over  me,  Lester,"  she  consoled.  "I'm 
all  right;  I'll  get  along.  It  did  seem  terrible  to  me  for  a 
while — getting  used  to  being  alone.  I'll  be  all  right 
now.  I'll  get  along." 

"  I  want  you  to  feel  that  my  attitude  hasn't  changed," 
he  continued  eagerly.  "I'm  interested  in  what  concerns 
you.  Mrs. — Letty  understands  that.  She  knows  just 
how  I  feel.  When  you  get  settled  I'll  come  in  and  see 
how  you're  fixed.  I'll  come  around  here  again  in  a  few 
days.  You  understand  how  I  feel,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  she  said. 

He  took  her  hand,  turning  it  sympathetically  in  his 
own.  "Don't  worry,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  you  to 
do  that.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  You're  still  Jennie  to  me, 
if  you  don't  mind.  I'm  pretty  bad,  but  I'm  not  all  bad." 

"  It's  all  right,  Lester.  I  wanted  you  to  do  as  you  did. 
It's  for  the  best.  You  probably  are  happy  since — " 

401 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

"Now,  Jennie,"  he  interrupted;  then  he  pressed 
affectionately  her  hand,  her  arm,  her  shoulder.  "Want 
to  kiss  me  for  old  times'  sake?"  he  smiled. 

She  put  her  hands  over  his  shoulders,  looked  long  into 
his  eyes,  then  kissed  him.  When  their  lips  met  she 
trembled.  Lester  also  felt  unsteady.  Jennie  saw  his 
agitation,  and  tried  hard  to  speak. 

"  You'd  better  go  now,"  she  said  firmly.  "  It's  getting 
dark." 

He  went  away,  and  yet  he  knew  that  he  wanted  above 
all  things  to  remain;  she  was  still  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  for  him.  And  Jennie  felt  comforted  even  though 
the  separation  still  existed  in  all  its  finality.  She  did  not 
endeavor  to  explain  or  adjust  the  moral  and  ethical 
entanglements  of  the  situation.  She  was  not,  like  so 
many,  endeavoring  to  put  the  ocean  into  a  tea-cup,  or  to 
tie  up  the  shifting  universe  in  a  mess  of  strings  called  law. 
Lester  still  cared  for  her  a  little.  He  cared  for  Letty 
too.  That  was  all  right.  She  had  hoped  once  that  he 
might  want  her  only.  Since  he  did  not,  was  his  affection 
worth  nothing?  She  could  not  think,  she  could  not  feel 
that.  And  neither  could  he. 


CHAPTER   LX 

THE  drift  of  events  for  a  period  of  five  years  carried 
Lester  and  Jennie  still  farther  apart;  they  settled 
naturally  into  their  respective  spheres,  without  the 
renewal  of  the  old  time  relationship  which  their  several 
meetings  at  the  Tremont  at  first  seemed  to  foreshadow. 
Lester  was  in  the  thick  of  social  and  commercial  affairs; 
he  walked  in  paths  to  which  Jennie's  retiring  soul  had 
never  aspired.  Jennie's  own  existence  was  quiet  and 
uneventful.  There  was  a  simple  cottage  in  a  very 
respectable  but  not  showy  neighborhood  near  Jackson 
Park,  on  the  South  Side,  where  she  lived  in  retirement 
with  a  little  foster-child — a  chestnut-haired  girl  taken 
from  the  Western  Home  for  the  Friendless — as  her  sole 
companion.  Here  she  was  known  as  Mrs.  J.  G.  Stover, 
for  she  had  deemed  it  best  to  abandon  the  name  of  Kane. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lester  Kane  when  resident  in  Chicago  were 
the  occupants  of  a  handsome  mansion  on  the  Lake  Shore 
Drive,  where  parties,  balls,  receptions,  dinners  were  given 
in  rapid  and  at  times  almost  pyrotechnic  succession. 

Lester,  however,  had  become  in  his  way  a  lover  of  a 
peaceful  and  well-entertained  existence.  He  had  cut 
from  his  list  of  acquaintances  and  associates  a  number  of 
people  who  had  been  a  little  doubtful  or  overfamiliar  or 
indifferent  or  talkative  during  a  certain  period  which  to 
him  was  a  memory  merely.  He  was  a  director,  and  in 
several  cases  the  chairman  of  a  board  of  directors,  in  nine 
of  the  most  important  financial  and  commercial  organiza- 
tions of  the  West — The  United  Traction  Company  of 
Cincinnati,  The  Western  Crucible  Company,  The  United 

27  403 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Carriage  Company,  The  Second  National  Bank  of  Chi- 
cago, the  First  National  Bank  of  Cincinnati,  and  several 
others  of  equal  importance.  He  was  never  a  personal 
factor  in  the  affairs  of  The  United  Carriage  Company, 
preferring  to  be  represented  by  counsel — Mr.  D wight  L. 
Watson,  but  he  took  a  keen  interest  in  its  affairs.  He 
had  not  seen  his  brother  Robert  to  speak  to  him  in  seven 
years.  He  had  not  seen  Imogene,  who  lived  in  Chicago, 
in  three.  Louise,  Amy,  their  husbands,  and  some  of 
their  closest  acquaintances  were  practically  strangers. 
The  firm  of  Knight,  Keatley  &  O'Brien  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  his  affairs. 

The  truth  was  that  Lester,  in  addition  to  becoming 
a  little  phlegmatic,  was  becoming  decidedly  critical  in  his 
outlook  on  life.  He  could  not  make  out  what  it  was  all 
about.  In  distant  ages  a  queer  thing  had  come  to  pass. 
There  had  started  on  its  way  in  the  form  of  evolution  a 
minute  cellular  organism  which  had  apparently  repro- 
duced itself  by  division,  had  early  learned  to  combine 
itself  with  others,  to  organize  itself  into  bodies,  strange 
forms  of  fish,  animals,  and  birds,  and  had  finally  learned 
to  organize  itself  into  man.  Man,  on  his  part,  composed 
as  he  was  of  self-organizing  cells,  was  pushing  himself 
forward  into  comfort  and  different  aspects  of  existence 
by  means  of  union  and  organization  with  other  men. 
Why  ?  Heaven  only  knew.  Here  he  was  endowed  with 
a  peculiar  brain  and  a  certain  amount  of  talent,  and  he 
had  inherited  a  certain  amount  of  wealth  which  he  now 
scarcely  believed  he  deserved,  only  luck  had  favored 
him.  But  he  could  not  see  that  any  one  else  might  be 
said  to  deserve  this  wealth  any  more  than  himself,  seeing 
that  his  use  of  it  was  as  conservative  and  constructive 
and  practical  as  the  next  one's.  He  might  have  been 
born  poor,  in  which  case  he  would  have  been  as  well 
satisfied  as  the  next  one — not  more  so.  Why  should  he 
complain,  why  worry,  why  speculate? — the  world  was 
going  steadily  forward  of  its  own  volition,  whether  he 

404 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

would  or  no.  Truly  it  was.  And  was  there  any  need 
for  him  to  disturb  himself  about  it?  There  was  not. 
He  fancied  at  times  that  it  might  as  well  never  have  been 
started  at  all.  "The  one  divine,  far-off  event"  of  the 
poet  did  not  appeal  to  him  as  having  any  basis  in  fact. 
Mrs.  Lester  Kane  was  of  very  much  the  same  opinion. 

Jennie,  living  on  the  South  Side  with  her  adopted 
child,  Rose  Perpetua,  was  of  no  fixed  conclusion  as  to  the 
meaning  of  life.  She  had  not  the  incisive  reasoning 
capacity  of  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Lester  Kane.  She  had 
seen  a  great  deal,  suffered  a  great  deal,  and  had  read  some 
in  a  desultory  way.  Her  mind  had  never  grasped  the 
nature  and  character  of  specialized  knowledge.  History, 
physics,  chemistry,  botany,  geology,  and  sociology  were 
not  fixed  departments  in  her  brain  as  they  were  in 
Lester's  and  Letty's.  Instead  there  was  the  feeling 
that  the  world  moved  in  some  strange,  unstable  way. 
Apparently  no  one  knew  clearly  what  it  was  all  about. 
People  were  born  and  died.  Some  believed  that  the 
world  had  been  made  six  thousand  years  before;  some 
that  it  was  millions  of  years  old.  Was  it  all  blind  chance, 
or  was  there  some  guiding  intelligence — a  God  ?  Almost 
in  spite  of  herself  she  felt  there  must  be  something — 
a  higher  power  which  produced  all  the  beautiful  things — 
the  flowers,  the  stars,  the  trees,  the  grass.  Nature  was 
so  beautiful!  If  at  times  life  seemed  cruel,  yet  this 
beauty  still  persisted.  The  thought  comforted  her;  she 
fed  upon  it  in  her  hours  of  secret  loneliness. 

It  has  been  said  that  Jennie  was  naturally  of  an  in- 
dustrious turn.  She  liked  to  be  employed,  though  she 
thought  constantly  as  she  worked.  She  was  of  matronly 
proportions  in  these  days — not  disagreeably  large,  but 
full  bodied,  shapely,  and  smooth-faced  in  spite  of  her 
cares.  Her  eyes  were  gray  and  appealing.  Her  hair 
was  still  of  a  rich  brown,  but  there  were  traces  of  gray 
in  it.  Her  neighbors  spoke  of  her  as  sweet-tempered, 
kindly,  and  hospitable.  They  knew  nothing  of  her 

405 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

history,  except  that  she  had  formerly  resided  in  Sand- 
wood,  and  before  that  in  Cleveland.  She  was  very 
reticent  as  to  her  past. 

Jennie  had  fancied,  because  of  her  natural  aptitude 
for  taking  care  of  sick  people,  that  she  might  get  to  be  a 
trained  nurse.  But  she  was  obliged  to  abandon  that 
idea,  for  she  found  that  only  young  people  were  wanted. 
She  also  thought  that  some  charitable  organization 
might  employ  her,  but  she  did  not  understand  the  new 
theory  of  charity  which  was  then  coming  into  general 
acceptance  and  practice — namely,  only  to  help  others  to 
help  themselves.  She  believed  in  giving,  and  was  not 
inclined  to  look  too  closely  into  the  credentials  of  those 
who  asked  for  help;  consequently  her  timid  inquiry  at 
one  relief  agency  after  another  met  with  indifference,  if 
not  unqualified  rebuke.  She  finally  decided  to  adopt 
another  child  for  Rose  Perpetua's  sake;  she  succeeded  in 
securing  a  boy,  four  years  old,  who  was  known  as  Henry 
— Henry  Stover.  Her  support  was  assured,  for  her  in- 
come was  paid  to  her  through  a  trust  company.  She 
had  no  desire  for  speculation  or  for  the  devious  ways  of 
trade.  The  care  of  flowers,  the  nature  of  children,  the 
ordering  of  a  home  were  more  in  her  province. 

One  of  the  interesting  things  in  connection  with  this 
separation  once  it  had  been  firmly  established  related  to 
Robert  and  Lester,  for  these  two  since  the  reading  of  the 
will  a  number  of  years  before  had  never  met.  Robert 
had  thought  of  his  brother  often.  He  had  followed  his 
success  since  he  had  left  Jennie  with  interest.  He  read 
of  his  marriage  to  Mrs.  Gerald  with  pleasure;  he  had 
always  considered  her  an  ideal  companion  for  his 
brother.  He  knew  by  many  signs  and  tokens  that  his 
brother,  since  the  unfortunate  termination  of  their 
father's  attitude  and  his  own  peculiar  movements  to 
gain  control  of  the  Kane  Company,  did  not  like  him. 
Still  they  had  never  been  so  far  apart  mentally — cer- 
tainly not  in  commercial  judgment.  Lester  was  prosper- 

406 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

ous  now.  He  could  afford  to  be  generous.  He  could 
afford  to  make  up.  And  after  all,  he  had  done  his  best 
to  aid  his  brother  to  come  to  his  senses — and  with  the 
best  intentions.  There  were  mutual  interests  they  could 
share  financially  if  they  were  friends.  He  wondered 
from  time  to  time  if  Lester  would  not  be  friendly  with 
him. 

Time  passed,  and  then  once,  when  he  was  in  Chicago, 
he  made  the  friends  with  whom  he  was  driving  purposely 
turn  into  the  North  Shore  in  order  to  see  the  splendid 
mansion  which  the  Kanes  occupied.  He  knew  its  loca- 
tion from  hearsay  and  description. 

When  he  saw  it  a  touch  of  the  old  Kane  home  atmos- 
phere came  back  to  him.  Lester  in  revising  the  prop- 
erty after  purchase  had  had  a  conservatory  built  on  one 
side  not  unlike  the  one  at  home  in  Cincinnati.  That 
same  night  he  sat  down  and  wrote  Lester  asking  if 
he  would  not  like  to  dine  with  him  at  the  Union  Club. 
He  was  only  in  town  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  would  like 
to  see  him  again.  There  was  some  feeling  he  knew,  but 
there  was  a  proposition  he  would  like  to  talk  to  him 
about.  Would  he  come,  say,  on  Thursday? 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter  Lester  frowned  and  fell  in- 
to a  brown  study.  He  had  never  really  been  healed  of 
the  wound  that  his  father  had  given  him.  He  had  never 
been  comfortable  in  his  mind  since  Robert  had  deserted 
him  so  summarily.  He  realized  now  that  the  stakes  his 
brother  had  been  playing  for  were  big.  But,  after  all,  he 
had  been  his  brother,  and  if  he  had  been  in  Robert's 
place  at  the  time,  he  would  not  have  done  as  he  had 
done;  at  least  he  hoped  not.  Now  Robert  wanted  to 
see  him. 

He  thought  once  of  not  answering  at  all.  Then  he 
thought  he  would  write  and  say  no.  But  a  curious 
desire  to  see  Robert  again,  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  to 
listen  to  the  proposition  he  had  to  offer,  came  over  him; 
he  decided  to  write  yes.  It  could  do  no  harm.  He 

407 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

knew  it  could  do  no  good.  They  might  agree  to  let  by- 
gones be  by-gones,  but  the  damage  had  been  done. 
Could  a  broken  bowl  be  mended  and  called  whole?  It 
might  be  called  whole,  but  what  of  it  ?  Was  it  not  broken 
and  mended?  He  wrote  and  intimated  that  he  would 
come. 

On  the  Thursday  in  question  Robert  called  up  from 
the  Auditorium  to  remind  him  of  the  engagement.  Les- 
ter listened  curiously  to  the  sound  of  his  voice.  "All 
right,"  he  said,  "I'll  be  with  you."  At  noon  he  went 
down- town,  and  there,  within  the  exclusive  precincts  of 
the  Union  Club,  the  two  brothers  met  and  looked  at  each 
other  again.  Robert  was  thinner  than  when  Lester  had 
seen  him  last,  and  a  little  grayer.  His  eyes  were  bright 
and  steely,  but  there  were  crow's-feet  on  either  side. 
His  manner  was  quick,  keen,  dynamic.  Lester  was 
noticeably  of  another  type — solid,  brusque,  and  indiffer- 
ent. Men  spoke  of  Lester  these  days  as  a  little  hard. 
Robert's  keen  blue  eyes  did  not  disturb  him  in  the  least — 
did  not  affect  him  in  any  way.  He  saw  his  brother  just 
as  he  was,  for  he  had  the  larger  philosophic  and  inter- 
pretative insight;  but  Robert  could  not  place  Lester 
exactly.  He  could  not  fathom  just  what  had  happened 
to  him  in  these  years.  Lester  was  stouter,  not  gray,  for 
some  reason,  but  sandy  and  ruddy,  looking  like  a  man 
who  was  fairly  well  satisfied  to  take  life  as  he  found  it. 
Lester  looked  at  his  brother  with  a  keen,  steady  eye. 
The  latter  shifted  a  little,  for  he  was  restless.  He  could 
see  that  there  was  no  loss  of  that  mental  force  and  cour- 
age which  had  always  been  predominant  characteristics 
in  Lester's  make-up. 

"  I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  you  again,  Lester,"  Robert 
remarked,  after  they  had  clasped  hands  in  the  customary 
grip.  "It's  been  a  long  time  now — nearly  eight  years, 
hasn't  it?" 

"About  that,"  replied  Lester.  "How  are  things  with 
you?" 

408 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

"  Oh,  about  the  same.     You've  been  fairly  well,  I  see/' 

"Never  sick,"  said  Lester.  "A  little  cold  now  and 
then.  I  don't  often  go  to  bed  with  anything.  How's 
your  wife?" 

"Oh,  Margaret's  fine." 

"And  the  children?" 

"  We  don't  see  much  of  Ralph  and  Berenice  since 
they  married,  but  the  others  are  around  more  or  less.  I 
suppose  your  wife  is  all  right,"  he  said  hesitatingly.  It 
was  difficult  ground  for  Robert. 

Lester  eyed  him  without  a  change  of  expression. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "She  enjoys  pretty  fair  health. 
She's  quite  well  at  present." 

They  drifted  mentally  for  a  few  moments,  while  Lester 
inquired  after  the  business,  and  Amy,  Louise,  and  Imo- 
gene.  He  admitted  frankly  that  he  neither  saw  nor 
heard  from  them  nowadays.  Robert  told  him  what  he 
could. 

"The  thing  that  I  was  thinking  of  in  connection  with 
you,  Lester,"  said  Robert  finally,  "is  this  matter  of  the 
Western  Crucible  Steel  Company.  You  haven't  been 
sitting  there  as  a  director  in  person  I  notice,  but  your 
attorney,  Watson,  has  been  acting  for  you.  Clever  man, 
that.  The  management  isn't  right — we  all  know  that. 
We  need  a  practical  steel  man  at  the  head  of  it,  if  the 
thing  is  ever  going  to  pay  properly.  I  have  voted  my 
stock  with  yours  right  along  because  the  propositions 
made  by  Watson  have  been  right.  He  agrees  with  me 
that  things  ought  to  be  changed.  Now  I  have  a  chance 
to  buy  seventy  shares  held  by  Rossiter's  widow.  That 
with  yours  and  mine  would  give  us  control  of  the  com- 
pany. I  would  like  to  have  you  take  them,  though  it 
doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference  so  long  as  it's  in  the 
family.  You  can  put  any  one  you  please  in  for  presi- 
dent, and  we'll  make  the  thing  come  out  right." 

Lester  smiled.  It  was  a  pleasant  proposition.  Wat- 
son had  told  him  that  Robert's  interests  were  co-operat- 

409 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

ing  with  him.  Lester  had  long  suspected  that  Robert 
would  like  to  make  up.  This  was  the  olive  branch — 
the  control  of  a  property  worth  in  the  neighborhood  of  a 
million  and  a  half. 

"That's  very  nice  of  you,"  said  Lester  solemnly. 
"It's  a  rather  liberal  thing  to  do.  What  makes  you 
want  to  do  it  now?" 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  Lester,"  replied 
Robert,  "  I  never  did  feel  right  about  that  will  business. 
I  never  did  feel  right  about  that  secretary-treasurership 
and  some  other  things  that  have  happened.  I  don't 
want  to  rake  up  the  past — you  smile  at  that — but  I 
can't  help  telling  you  how  I  feel.  I've  been  pretty 
ambitious  in  the  past.  I  was  pretty  ambitious  just 
about  the  time  that  father  died  to  get  this  United  Car- 
riage scheme  under  way,  and  I  was  afraid  you  might  not 
like  it.  I  have  thought  since  that  I  ought  not  to  have 
done  it,  but  I  did.  I  suppose  you're  not  anxious  to 
hear  any  more  about  that  old  affair.  This  other  thing 
though — " 

"Might  be  handed  out  as  a  sort  of  compensation,"  put 
in  Lester  quietly. 

"  Not  exactly  that,  Lester — though  it  may  have  some- 
thing of  that  in  it.  I  know  these  things  don't  matter 
very  much  to  you  now.  I  know  that  the  time  to  do 
things  was  years  ago — not  now.  Still  I  thought  sin- 
cerely that  you  might  be  interested  in  this  proposition. 
It  might  lead  to  other  things.  Frankly,  I  thought  it 
might  patch  up  matters  between  us.  We're  brothers 
after  all." 

"Yes,"  said  Lester,  "we're  brothers." 

He  was  thinking  as  he  said  this  of  the  irony  of  the 
situation.  How  much  had  this  sense  of  brotherhood 
been  worth  in  the  past  ?  Robert  had  practically  forced 
him  into  his  present  relationship,  and  while  Jennie  had 
been  really  the  only  one  to  suffer,  he  could  not  help  feeling 
angry.  It  was  true  that  Robert  had  not  cut  him  out  of 

410 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

his  one-fourth  of  his  father's  estate,  but  certainly  he  had 
not  helped  him  to  get  it,  and  now  Robert  was  thinking 
that  this  offer  of  his  might  mend  things.  It  hurt  him — 
Lester — a  little.  It  irritated  him.  Life  was  strange. 

"I  can't  see  it,  Robert,"  he  said  finally  and  deter- 
minedly. "I  can  appreciate  the  motive  that  prompts 
you  to  make  this  offer.  But  I  can't  see  the  wisdom  of 
my  taking  it.  Your  opportunity  is  your  opportunity. 
I  don't  want  it.  We  can  make  all  the  changes  you  sug- 
gest if  you  take  the  stock.  I'm  rich  enough  anyhow. 
Bygones  are  bygones.  I'm  perfectly  willing  to  talk 
with  you  from  time  to  time.  That's  all  you  want.  This 
other  thing  is  simply  a  sop  with  which  to  plaster  an  old 
wound.  You  want  my  friendship  and  so  far  as  I'm 
concerned  you  have  that.  I  don't  hold  any  grudge 
against  you.  I  won't." 

Robert  looked  at  him  fixedly.  He  half  smiled.  He 
admired  Lester  in  spite  of  all  that  he  had  done  to  him — 
in  spite  of  all  that  Lester  was  doing  to  him  now. 

"I  don't  know  but  what  you're  right,  Lester,"  he 
admitted  finally.  "  I  didn't  make  this  offer  in  any  petty 
spirit  though.  I  wanted  to  patch  up  this  matter  of 
feeling  between  us.  I  won't  say  anything  more  about  it. 
You're  not  coming  down  to  Cincinnati  soon,  are  you?" 

"  I  don't  expect  to,"  replied  Lester. 

"  If  you  do  I'd  like  to  have  you  come  and  stay  with  us. 
Bring  your  wife.  We  could  talk  over  old  times." 

Lester  smiled  an  enigmatic  smile. 

"I'll  be  glad  to,"  he  said,  without  emotion.  But  he 
remembered  that  in  the  days  of  Jennie  it  was  different. 
They  would  never  have  receded  from  their  position 
regarding  her.  "Well,"  he  thought,  "perhaps  I  can't 
blame  them .  Let  it  go . " 

They  talked  on  about  other  things.  Finally  Lester 
remembered  an  appointment.  "I'll  have  to  leave  you 
soon,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  I  ought  to  go,  too,"  said  Robert.  They  rose.  "  Well, 
411 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

anyhow,"  he  added,  as  they  walked  toward  the  cloak- 
room, "we  won't  be  absolute  strangers  in  the  future, 
will  we?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Lester.  "  I'll  see  you  from  time 
to  time."  They  shook  hands  and  separated  amicably. 
There  was  a  sense  of  unsatisfied  obligation  and  some 
remorse  in  Robert's  mind  as  he  saw  his  brother  walking 
briskly  away.  Lester  was  an  able  man.  Why  was  it 
that  there  was  so  much  feeling  between  them — had  been 
even  before  Jennie  had  appeared  ?  Then  he  remembered 
his  old  thoughts  about  "snaky  deeds."  That  was  what 
his  brother  lacked,  and  that  only.  He  was  not  crafty; 
not  darkly  cruel,  hence.  "What  a  world!"  he  thought. 

On  his  part  Lester  went  away  feeling  a  slight  sense  of 
opposition  to,  but  also  of  sympathy  for,  his  brother.  He 
was  not  so  terribly  bad — not  different  from  other  men. 
Why  criticize?  What  would  he  have  done  if  he  had 
been  in  Robert's  place  ?  Robert  was  getting  along.  So 
was  he.  He  could  see  now  how  it  all  came  about — why 
he  had  been  made  the  victim,  why  his  brother  had  been 
made  the  keeper  of  the  great  fortune.  "  It's  the  way  the 
world  runs,"  he  thought.  "What  difference  does  it 
make?  I  have  enough  to  live  on.  Why  not  let  it  go 
at  that?" 


CHAPTER   LXI 

THE  days  of  man  under  the  old  dispensation,  or, 
rather,  according  to  that  supposedly  biblical  formu- 
la, which  persists,  are  threescore  years  and  ten.  It  is  sa 
ingrained  in  the  race-consciousness  by  mouth-to-mouth 
utterance  that  it  seems  the  profoundest  of  truths.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  man,  even  under  his  mortal  illusion,  is 
organically  built  to  live  five  times  the  period  of  his 
maturity,  and  would  do  so  if  he  but  knew  that  it  is  spirit 
which  endures,  that  age  is  an  illusion,  and  that  there  is 
no  death.  Yet  the  race-thought,  gained  from  what 
dream  of  materialism  we  know  not,  persists,  and  the 
death  of  man  under  the  mathematical  formula  so  fear- 
fully accepted  is  daily  registered. 

Lester  was  one  of  those  who  believed  in  this  formula. 
He  was  nearing  sixty.  He  thought  he  had,  say,  twenty 
years  more  at  the  utmost  to  live — perhaps  not  so  long. 
Well,  he  had  lived  comfortably.  He  felt  that  he  could 
not  complain.  If  death  was  coming,  let  it  come.  He 
was  ready  at  any  time.  No  complaint  or  resistance 
would  issue  from  him.  Life,  in  most  of  its  aspects,  was  a 
silly  show  anyhow. 

He  admitted  that  it  was  mostly  illusion — easily  proved 
to  be  so.  That  it  might  all  be  one  he  sometimes  sus- 
pected. It  was  very  much  like  a  dream  in  its  com- 
position truly — sometimes  like  a  very  bad  dream.  All 
he  had  to  sustain  him  in  his  acceptance  of  its  reality 
from  hour  to  hour  and  day  to  day  was  apparent  contact 
with  this  material  proposition  and  that — people,  meet- 
ings of  boards  of  directors,  individuals  and  organizations 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

planning  to  do  this  and  that,  his  wife's  social  functions^ 
Letty  loved  him  as  a  fine,  grizzled  example  of  a  philoso- 
pher. She  admired,  as  Jennie  had,  his  solid,  determined, 
phlegmatic  attitude  in  the  face  of  troubled  circumstance. 
All  the  winds  of  fortune  or  misfortune  could  not  appar- 
ently excite  or  disturb  Lester.  He  refused  to  be  fright- 
ened. He  refused  to  budge  from  his  beliefs  and  feelings, 
and  usually  had  to  be  pushed  away  from  them,  still  be- 
lieving, if  he  were  gotten  away  at  all.  He  refused  to  do 
anything  save  as  he  always  said,  "Look  the  facts  in  the 
face"  and  fight.  He  could  be  made  to  fight  easily 
enough  if  imposed  upon,  but  only  in  a  stubborn,  resist- 
ing way.  His  plan  was  to  resist  every  effort  to  coerce 
him  to  the  last  ditch.  If  he  had  to  let  go  in  the  end  he 
would  when  compelled,  but  his  views  as  to  the  value 
of  not  letting  go  were  quite  the  same  even  when  he  had 
let  go  under  compulsion. 

His  views  of  living  were  still  decidedly  material, 
grounded  in  creature  comforts,  and  he  had  always  in- 
sisted upon  having  the  best  of  everything.  If  the  fur- 
nishings of  his  home  became  the  least  dingy  he  was  for 
having  them  torn  out  and  sold  and  the  house  done  over. 
If  he  traveled,  money  must  go  ahead  of  him  and  smooth 
the  way.  He  did  not  want  argument,  useless  talk,  or 
silly  palaver  as  he  called  it.  Every  one  must  discuss 
interesting  topics  with  him  or  not  talk  at  all.  Letty 
understood  him  thoroughly.  She  would  chuck  him 
under  the  chin  mornings,  or  shake  his  solid  head  between 
her  hands,  telling  him  he  was  a  brute,  but  a  nice  kind  of 
a  brute.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  would  growl.  "I  know.  I'm 
an  animal,  I  suppose.  You're  a  seraphic  suggestion  of 
attenuated  thought." 

"No;  you  hush,"  she  would  reply,  for  at  times  he 
could  cut  like  a  knife  without  really  meaning  to  be  un- 
kind. Then  he  would  pet  her  a  little,  for,  in  spite  of  her 
vigorous  conception  of  life,  he  realized  that  she  was  more 
or  less  dependent  upon  him.  It  was  always  so  plain  to 

414 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

her  that  he  could  get  along  without  her.  For  reasons  of 
kindliness  he  was  trying  to  conceal  this,  to  pretend  the 
necessity  of  her  presence,  but  it  was  so  obvious  that  he 
really  could  dispense  with  her  easily  enough.  Now 
Letty  did  depend  upon  Lester.  It  was  something,  in  so 
shifty  and  uncertain  a  world,  to  be  near  so  fixed  and 
determined  a  quantity  as  this  bear-man.  It  was  like 
being  close  to  a  warmly  glowing  lamp  in  the  dark  or  a 
bright  burning  fire  in  the  cold.  Lester  was  not  afraid  of 
anything.  He  felt  that  he  knew  how  to  live  and  to  die. 

It  was  natural  that  a  temperament  of  this  kind  should 
have  its  solid,  material  manifestation  at  every  point. 
Having  his  financial  affairs  well  in  hand,  most  of  his 
holding  being  ?hares  of  big  companies,  where  boards  of 
solemn  directors  merely  approved  the  strenuous  efforts 
of  ambitious  executives  to  "make  good,"  he  had  leisure 
for  living.  He  and  Letty  were  fond  of  visiting  the  vari- 
ous American  and  European  watering-places.  He  gam- 
bled a  little,  for  he  found  that  there  was  considerable 
diversion  in  risking  interesting  sums  on  the  spin  of  a 
wheel  or  the  fortuitous  roll  of  a  ball ;  and  he  took  more 
and  more  to  drinking,  not  in  the  sense  that  a  drunkard 
takes  to  it,  but  as  a  high  liver,  socially,  and  with  all  his 
friends.  He  was  inclined  to  drink  the  rich  drinks  when 
he  did  not  take  straight  whiskey — champagne,  sparkling 
Burgundy,  the  expensive  and  effervescent  white  wines. 
When  he  drank  he  could  drink  a  great  deal,  and  he  ate  in 
proportion.  Nothing  must  be  served  but  the  best — 
soup,  fish,  entree,  roast,  game,  dessert — everything  that 
made  up  a  showy  dinner — and  he  had  long  since  deter- 
mined that  only  a  high-priced  chef  was  worth  while. 
They  had  found  an  old  cordon  bleu,  Louis  Berdot,  who 
had  served  in  the  house  of  one  of  the  great  dry  goods 
princes,  and  this  man  he  engaged.  He  cost  Lester  a 
hundred  dollars  a  week,  but  his  reply  to  any  question 
was  that  he  only  had  one  life  to  live. 

The  trouble  with  this  attitude  was  that  it  adjusted 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

nothing,  improved  nothing,  left  everything  to  drift  on 
toward  an  indefinite  end.  If  Lester  had  married  Jennie 
and  accepted  the  comparatively  meager  income  of  ten 
thousand  a  year  he  would  have  maintained  the  same 
attitude  to  the  end.  It  would  have  led  him  to  a  stolid 
indifference  to  the  social  world  of  which  now  necessarily 
he  was  a  part.  He  would  have  drifted  on  with  a  few 
mentally  compatible  cronies  who  would  have  accepted 
him  for  what  he  was — a  good  fellow — and  Jennie  in  the 
end  would  not  have  been  so  much  better  off  than  she 
was  now. 

One  of  the  changes  which  was  interesting  was  that  the 
Kanes  transferred  their  residence  to  New  York.  Mrs. 
Kane  had  become  very  intimate  with  a  group  of  clever 
women  in  the  Eastern  four  hundred,  or  nine  hundred, 
and  had  been  advised  and  urged  to  transfer  the  scene  of 
her  activities  to  New  York.  She  finally  did  so,  leasing 
a  house  in  Seventy-eighth  Street,  near  Madison  Avenue. 
She  installed  a  novelty  for  her,  a  complete  staff  of  liveried 
servants,  after  the  English  fashion,  and  had  the  rooms  of 
her  house  done  in  correlative  periods.  Lester  smiled  at 
her  vanity  and  love  of  show. 

"You  talk  about  your  democracy,"  he  grunted  one 
day.  "  You  have  as  much  democracy  as  I  have  religion, 
and  that's  none  at  all." 

"Why,  how  you  talk!"  she  denied.  "I  am  demo- 
cratic. We  all  run  in  classes.  You  do.  I'm  merely 
accepting  the  logic  of  the  situation." 

"  The  logic  of  your  grandmother !  Do  you  call  a  butler 
and  doorman  in  red  velvet  a  part  of  the  necessity  of  the 
occasion?" 

"  I  certainly  do,"  she  replied.  "Maybe  not  the  neces- 
sity exactly,  but  the  spirit  surely.  Why  should  you 
quarrel?  You're  the  first  one  to  insist  on  perfection — 
to  quarrel  if  there  is  any  flaw  in  the  order  of  things." 

"You  never  heard  me  quarrel." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  literally.  But  you  demand 
416 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

perfection — the  exact  spirit  of  the  occasion,  and  you 
know  it." 

"Maybe  I  do,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  your 
democracy?" 

"I  am  democratic.  I  insist  on  it.  I'm  as  demo- 
cratic in  spirit  as  any  woman.  Only  I  see  things  as  they 
are,  and  conform  as  much  as  possible  for  comfort's  sake, 
and  so  do  you.  Don't  you  throw  rocks  at  my  glass 
house,  Mister  Master.  Yours  is  so  transparent  I  can  see 
every  move  you  make  inside." 

"I'm  democratic  and  you're  not,"  he  teased;  but  he 
approved  thoroughly  of  everything  she  did.  She  was, 
he  sometimes  fancied,  a  better  executive  in  her  world 
than  he  was  in  his. 

Drifting  in  this  fashion,  wining,  dining,  drinking  the 
waters  of  this  curative  spring  and  that,  traveling  in 
luxurious  ease  and  taking  no  physical  exercise,  finally 
altered  his  body  from  a  vigorous,  quick-moving,  well- 
balanced  organism  into  one  where  plethora  of  substance 
was  clogging  every  essential  function.  His  liver,  kid- 
neys, spleen,  pancreas — every  organ,  in  fact — had  been 
overtaxed  for  some  time  to  keep  up  the  process  of 
digestion  and  elimination.  In  the  past  seven  years  he 
had  become  uncomfortably  heavy.  His  kidneys  were 
weak,  and  so  were  the  arteries  of  his  brain.  By  dieting, 
proper  exercise,  the  right  mental  attitude,  he  might 
have  lived  to  be  eighty  or  ninety.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  was  allowing  himself  to  drift  into  a  physical  state  in 
which  even  a  slight  malady  might  prove  dangerous. 
The  result  was  inevitable,  and  it  came. 

It  so  happened  that  he  and  Letty  had  gone  to  the 
North  Cape  on  a  cruise  with  a  party  of  friends.  Lester, 
in  order  to  attend  to  some  important  business,  decided 
to  return  to  Chicago  late  in  November;  he  arranged  to 
have  his  wife  meet  him  in  New  York  just  before  the 
Christmas  holidays.  He  wrote  Watson  to  expect  him, 
and  engaged  rooms  at  the  Auditorium,  for  he  had  sold 


JENNIE    GERHARD! 

the  Chicago  residence  some  two  years  before  and  was 
now  living  permanently  in  New  York. 

One  late  November  day,  after  having  attended  to  a 
number  of  details  and  cleared  up  his  affairs  very  materi- 
ally, Lester  was  seized  with  what  the  doctor  who  was 
called  to  attend  him  described  as  a  cold  in  the  intestines 
— a  disturbance  usually  symptomatic  of  some  other 
weakness,  either  of  the  blood  or  of  some  organ.  He 
suffered  great  pain,  and  the  usual  remedies  in  that  case 
were  applied.  There  were  bandages  of  red  flannel  with 
a  mustard  dressing,  and  specifics  were  also  administered. 
He  experienced  some  relief,  but  he  was  troubled  with  a 
sense  of  impending  disaster.  He  had  Watson  cable  his 
wife — there  was  nothing  serious  about  it,  but  he  was  ill. 
A  trained  nurse  was  in  attendance  and  his  valet  stood 
guard  at  the  door  to  prevent  annoyance  of  any  kind. 
It  was  plain  that  Letty  could  not  reach  Chicago  under 
three  weeks.  He  had  the  feeling  that  he  would  not  see 
her  again. 

Curiously  enough,  not  only  because  he  was  in  Chicago, 
t)ut  because  he  had  never  been  spiritually  separated 
from  Jennie,  he  was  thinking  about  her  constantly  at 
this  time.  He  had  intended  to  go  out  and  see  her  just 
as  soon  as  he  was  through  with  his  business  engagements 
and  before  he  left  the  city.  He  had  asked  Watson  how 
she  was  getting  along,  and  had  been  informed  that  every- 
thing was  well  with  her.  She  was  living  quietly  and 
looking  in  good  health,  so  Watson  said.  Lester  wished 
he  could  see  her. 

This  thought  grew  as  the  days  passed  and  he  grew  no 
better.  He  was  suffering  from  time  to  time  with  severe 
attacks  of  griping  pains  that  seemed  to  tie  his  viscera 
into  knots,  and  left  him  very  weak.  Several  times  the 
physician  administered  cocaine  with  a  needle  in  order  to 
relieve  him  of  useless  pain. 

After  one  of  the  severe  attacks  he  called  Watson  to  his 
side,  told  him  to  send  the  nurse  away,  and  then  said: 

418 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

"Watson,  I'd  like  to  have  you  do  me  a  favor.  Ask  Mrs. 
Stover  if  she  won't  come  here  to  see  me.  You'd  better 
go  and  get  her.  Just  send  the  nurse  and  Kozo  (the 
valet)  away  for  the  afternoon,  or  while  she's  here.  If 
she  comes  at  any  other  time  I'd  like  to  have  her  ad- 
mitted." 

Watson  understood.  He  liked  this  expression  of  senti- 
ment. He  was  sorry  for  Jennie.  He  was  sorry  for 
Lester.  He  wondered  what  the  world  would  think  if  it 
could  know  of  this  bit  of  romance  in  connection  with  so 
prominent  a  man.  Lester  was  decent.  He  had  made 
Watson  prosperous.  The  latter  was  only  too  glad  to 
serve  him  in  any  way. 

He  called  a  carriage  and  rode  out  to  Jennie's  residence. 
He  found  her  watering  some  plants;  her  face  expressed 
her  surprise  at  his  unusual  presence. 

"  I  come  on  a  rather  troublesome  errand,  Mrs.  Stover," 
he  said,  using  her  assumed  name.  "Your — that  is,  Mr. 
Kane  is  quite  sick  at  the  Auditorium.  His  wife  is  in 
Europe,  and  he  wanted  to  know  if  I  wouldn't  come  out 
here  and  ask  you  to  come  and  see  him.  He  wanted  me  to 
bring  you,  if  possible.  Could  you  come  with  me  now?" 

"Why  yes,"  said  Jennie,  her  face  a  study.  The 
children  were  in  school.  An  old  Swedish  housekeeper 
was  in  the  kitchen.  She  could  go  as  well  as  not.  But 
there  was  coming  back  to  her  in  detail  a  dream  she  had 
had  several  nights  before.  It  had  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  out  on  a  dark,  mystic  body  of  water  over  which  was 
hanging  something  like  a  fog,  or  a  pall  of  smoke.  She 
heard  the  water  ripple,  or  stir  faintly,  and  then  out  of 
the  surrounding  darkness  a  boat  appeared.  It  was  a 
little  boat,  oarless,  or  not  visibly  propelled,  and  in  it  were 
her  mother,  and  Vesta,  and  some  one  whom  she  could  not 
make  out.  Her  mother's  face  was  pale  and  sad,  very 
much  as  she  had  often  seen  it  in  life.  She  looked  at 
Jennie  solemnly,  sympathetically,  and  then  suddenly 
Jennie  realized  that  the  third  occupant  of  the  boat  was 

28  419 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Lester.  He  looked  at  her  gloomily — an  expression  she 
had  never  seen  on  his  face  before — and  then  her  mother 
remarked,  "  Well,  we  must  go  now."  The  boat  began  to 
move,  a  great  sense  of  loss  came  over  her,  and  she  cried, 
"Oh,  don't  leave  me,  mamma!" 

But  her  mother  only  looked  at  her  out  of  deep,  sad, 
still  eyes,  and  the  boat  was  gone. 

She  woke  with  a  start,  half  fancying  that  Lester  was 
beside  her.  She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  touch  his 
arm;  then  she  drew  herself  up  in  the  dark  and  rubbed 
her  eyes,  realizing  that  she  was  alone.  A  great  sense  of 
depression  remained  with  her,  and  for  two  days  it 
haunted  her.  Then,  when  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  noth- 
ing, Mr.  Watson  appeared  with  his  ominous  message. 

She  went  to  dress,  and  reappeared,  looking  as  troubled 
as  were  her  thoughts.  She  was  very  pleasing  in  her 
appearance  yet,  a  sweet,  kindly  woman,  well  dressed 
and  shapely.  She  had  never  been  separated  mentally 
from  Lester,  just  as  he  had  never  grown  entirely  away 
from  her.  She  was  always  with  him  in  thought,  just  as 
in  the  years  when  they  were  together.  Her  fondest 
memories  were  of  the  days  when  he  first  courted  her  in 
Cleveland — the  days  when  he  had  carried  her  off,  much 
as  the  cave-man  seized  his  mate — by  force.  Now  she 
longed  to  do  what  she  could  for  him.  For  this  call  was 
as  much  a  testimony  as  a  shock.  He  loved  her — he 
loved  her,  after  all. 

The  carriage  rolled  briskly  through  the  long  streets 
into  the  smoky  down-town  district.  It  arrived  at  the 
Auditorium,  and  Jennie  was  escorted  to  Lester's  room. 
Watson  had  been  considerate.  He  had  talked  little, 
leaving  her  to  her  thoughts.  In  this  great  hotel  she  felt 
diffident  after  so  long  a  period  of  complete  retirement. 
As  she  entered  the  room  she  looked  at  Lester  with  large, 
gray,  sympathetic  eyes.  He  was  lying  propped  up  on 
two  pillows,  his  solid  head  with  its  growth  of  once  dark 
brown  hair  slightly  grayed.  He  looked  at  her  curiously 

420 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

out  of  his  wise  old  eyes,  a  light  of  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion shining  in  them — weary  as  they  were.  Jennie 
was  greatly  distressed.  His  pale  face,  slightly  drawn 
from  suffering,  cut  her  like  a  knife.  She  took  his  hand, 
which  was  outside  the  coverlet,  and  pressed  it.  She 
leaned  over  and  kissed  his  lips. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Lester,"  she  murmured.  "I'm  so 
sorry.  You're  not  very  sick  though,  are  you?  You 
must  get  well,  Lester — and  soon!"  She  patted  his  hand 
gently. 

"Yes,  Jennie,  but  I'm  pretty  bad,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  feel  right  about  this  business.  I  don't  seem  able  to 
shake  it  off.  But  tell  me,  how  have  you  been  ?" 

"Oh,  just  the  same,  dear,"  she  replied.  "I'm  all 
right.  You  mustn't  talk  like  that,  though.  You're 
going  to  be  all  right  very  soon  now." 

He  smiled  grimly.  "Do  you  think  so?"  He  shook 
his  head,  for  he  thought  differently.  "Sit  down,  dear," 
he  went  on,  "I'm  not  worrying  about  that.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  again.  I  want  you  near  me."  He  sighed 
and  shut  his  eyes  for  a  minute. 

She  drew  up  a  chair  close  beside  the  bed,  her  face 
toward  his,  and  took  his  hand.  It  seemed  such  a  beauti- 
ful thing  that  he  should  send  for  her.  Her  eyes  showed 
the  mingled  sympathy,  affection,  and  gratitude  of  her 
heart.  At  the  same  time  fear  gripped  her;  how  ill  he 
looked! 

"  I  can't  tell  what  may  happen,"  he  went  on.  "  Letty 
is  in  Europe.  I've  wanted  to  see  you  again  for  some 
time.  I  was  coming  out  this  trip.  We  are  living  in 
New  York,  you  know.  You're  a  little  stouter,  Jennie." 

"Yes,  I'm  getting  old,  Lester,"  she  smiled. 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  make  any  difference,"  he  replied, 
looking  at  her  fixedly.  "Age  doesn't  count.  We  are 
all  in  that  boat.  It's  how  we  feel  about  lif e. ' ' 

He  stopped  and  stared  at  the  ceiling.  A  slight  twinge 
of  pain  reminded  him  of  the  vigorous  seizures  he  had  been 

421 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

through.  He  couldn't  stand  many  more  paroxysms 
like  the  last  one. 

"  I  couldn't  go,  Jennie,  without  seeing  you  again,"  he 
observed,  when  the  slight  twinge  ceased  and  he  was  free 
to  think  again.  "  I've  always  wanted  to  say  to  you, 
Jennie,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  haven't  been  satisfied  with 
the  way  we  parted.  It  wasn't  the  right  thing,  after  all. 
I  haven't  been  any  happier.  I'm  sorry.  I  wish  now, 
for  my  own  peace  of  mind,  that  I  hadn't  done  it." 

"Don't  say  that,  Lester,"  she  demurred,  going  over 
in  her  mind  all  that  had  been  between  them.  This  was 
such  a  testimony  to  their  real  union — their  real  spiritual 
compatibility.  "It's  all  right.  It  doesn't  make  any 
difference.  You've  been  very  good  to  me.  I  wouldn't 
have  been  satisfied  to  have  you  lose  your  fortune.  It 
couldn't  be  that  way.  I've  been  a  lot  better  satisfied 
as  it  is.  It's  been  hard,  but,  dear,  everything  is  hard 
at  times."  She  paused. 

"No,"  he  said.  "It  wasn't  right.  The  thing  wasn't 
worked  out  right  from  the  start;  but  that  wasn't  your 
fault.  I'm  sorry.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that.  I'm 
glad  I'm  here  to  do  it." 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  Lester — please  don't,"  she 
pleaded.  "It's  all  right.  You  needn't  be  sorry.  There's 
nothing  to  be  sorry  for.  You  have  always  been  so  good 
to  me.  Why,  when  I  think — "  she  stopped,  for  it  was 
hard  for  her  to  speak.  She  was  choking  with  affection 
and  sympathy.  She  pressed  his  hands.  She  was  recall- 
ing the  house  he  took  for  her  family  in  Cleveland,  his 
generous  treatment  of  Gerhardt,  all  the  long  ago  tokens 
of  love  and  kindness. 

"  Well,  I've  told  you  now,  and  I  feel  better.  You're  a 
good  woman,  Jennie,  and  you're  kind  to  come  to  me  this 
way."  I  loved  you.  I  love  you  now.  I  want  to  tell 
you  that.  It  seems  strange,  but  you're  the  only  woman 
I  ever  did  love  truly.  We  should  never  have  parted. 

Jennie  caught  her  breath.  It  was  the  one  thing  she 
422 


JENNIE    GERHARDT 

had  waited  for  all  these  years — this  testimony.  It  was 
the  one  thing  that  could  make  everything  right — this 
confession  of  spiritual  if  not  material  union.  Now  she 
could  live  happily.  Now  die  so.  "  Oh,  Lester,"  she 
exclaimed  with  a  sob,  and  pressed  his  hand.  He  re- 
turned the  pressure.  There  was  a  little  silence.  Then 
he  spoke  again. 

"How  are  the  two  orphans?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  they're  lovely,"  she  answered,  entering  upon  a 
detailed  description  of  their  diminutive  personalities. 
He  listened  comfortably,  for  her  voice  was  soothing  to 
him.  Her  whole  personality  was  grateful  to  him.  When 
it  came  time  for  her  to  go  he  seemed  desirous  of  keeping 
her. 

"Going,  Jennie?" 

"I  can  stay  just  as  well  as  not,  Lester,"  she  volun- 
teered. "I'll  take  a  room.  I  can  send  a  note  out  to 
Mrs.  Swenson.  It  will  be  all  right." 

"You  needn't  do  that,"  he  said,  but  she  could  see  that 
he  wanted  her,  that  he  did  not  want  to  be  alone. 

From  that  time  on  until  the  hour  of  his  death  she  was 
not  out  of  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER   LXII 

THE  end  came  after  four  days  during  which  Jennie 
was  by  his  bedside  almost  constantly.  The  nurse  in 
charge  welcomed  her  at  first  as  a  relief  and  company, 
but  the  physician  was  inclined  to  object.  Lester,  how- 
ever, was  stubborn.  "  This  is  my  death,"  he  said,  with  a 
touch  of  grim  humor.  "If  I'm  dying  I  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  die  in  my  own  way." 

Watson  smiled  at  the  man's  unfaltering  courage.  He 
had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before. 

There  were  cards  of  sympathy,  calls  of  inquiry,  notices 
in  the  newspaper.  Robert  saw  an  item  in  the  Inquirer^ 
and  decided  to  go  to  Chicago.  Imogene  called  with  her 
husband,  and  they  were  admitted  to  Lester's  room  for 
a  few  minutes  after  Jennie  had  gone  to  hers.  Lester 
had  little  to  say.  The  nurse  cautioned  them  that  he  was 
not  to  be  talked  to  much.  When  they  were  gone  Lester 
said  to  Jennie,  "Imogene  has  changed  a  good  deal." 
He  made  no  other  comment. 

Mrs.  Kane  was  on  the  Atlantic  three  days  out  from 
New  York  the  afternoon  Lester  died.  He  had  been 
meditating  whether  anything  more  could  be  done  for 
Jennie,  but  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  about  it. 
Certainly  it  was  useless  to  leave  her  more  money.  She 
did  not  want  it.  He  had  been  wondering  where  Letty 
was  and  how  near  her  actual  arrival  might  be  when  he 
was  seized  with  a  tremendous  paroxysm  of  pain.  Be- 
fore relief  could  be  administered  in  the  shape  of  an 
anesthetic  he  was  dead.  It  developed  afterward  that 
it  was  not  the  intestinal  trouble  which  killed  him,  but 
a  lesion  of  a  major  blood-vessel  in  the  brain. 

424 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

Jennie,  who  had  been  strongly  wrought  up  by  watching 
and  worrying,  was  beside  herself  with  grief.  He  had 
been  a  part  of  her  thought  and  feeling  so  long  that  it 
seemed  now  as  though  a  part  of  herself  had  died.  She 
had  loved  him  as  she  had  fancied  she  could  never  love 
any  one,  and  he  had  always  shown  that  he  cared  for  her 
— at  least  in  some  degree.  She  could  not  feel  the  emo- 
tion that  expresses  itself  in  tears — only  a  dull  ache,  a 
numbness  which  seemed  to  make  her  insensible  to  pain. 
He  looked  so  strong — her  Lester — lying  there  still  in 
death.  His  expression  was  unchanged — defiant,  deter- 
mined, albeit  peaceful.  Word  had  come  from  Mrs.  Kane 
that  she  would  arrive  on  the  Wednesday  following.  It 
was  decided  to  hold  the  body.  Jennie  learned  from  Mr. 
Watson  that  it  was  to  be  transferred  to  Cincinnati,  where 
the  Paces  had  a  vault.  Because  of  the  arrival  of  various 
members  of  the  family,  Jennie  withdrew  to  her  own  home; 
she  could  do  nothing  more. 

The  final  ceremonies  presented  a  peculiar  commentary 
on  the  anomalies  of  existence.  It  was  arranged  with 
Mrs.  Kane  by  wire  that  the  body  should  be  transferred  to 
Imogene's  residence,  and  the  funeral  held  from  there. 
Robert,  who  arrived  the  night  Lester  died ;  Berry  Dodge, 
Imogene's  husband ;  Mr.  Midgely,  and  three  other  citizens 
of  prominence  were  selected  as  pall-bearers.  Louise  and 
her  husband  came  from  Buffalo ;  Amy  and  her  husband 
from  Cincinnati.  The  house  was  full  to  overflowing 
with  citizens  who  either  sincerely  wished  or  felt  it  ex- 
pedient to  call.  Because  of  the  fact  that  Lester  and  his 
family  were  tentatively  Catholic,  a  Catholic  priest  was 
called  in  and  the  ritual  of  that  Church  was  carried  out. 
It  was  curious  to  see  him  lying  in  the  parlor  of  this  alien 
residence,  candles  at  his  head  and  feet,  burning  sepul- 
chrally,  a  silver  cross  upon  his  breast,  caressed  by  his 
waxen  fingers.  He  would  have  smiled  if  he  could  have 
seen  himself,  but  the  Kane  family  was  too  conventional, 
too  set  in  its  convictions,  to  find  anything  strange  in  this. 

425 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

The  Church  made  no  objection,  of  course.  The  family 
was  distinguished.  What  more  could  be  desired  ? 

On  Wednesday  Mrs.  Kane  arrived.  She  was  greatly 
distraught,  for  her  love,  like  Jennie's,  was  sincere.  She 
left  her  room  that  night  when  all  was  silent  and  leaned 
over  the  coffin,  studying  by  the  light  of  the  burning 
candles  Lester's  beloved  features.  Tears  trickled  down 
her  cheeks,  for  she  had  been  happy  with  him.  She 
caressed  his  cold  cheeks  and  hands.  "Poor,  dear  Les- 
ter!" she  whispered.  "Poor,  brave  soul!"  No  one  told 
her  that  he  had  sent  for  Jennie.  The  Kane  family  did 
not  know. 

Meanwhile  in  the  house  on  South  Park  Avenue  sat  a 
woman  who  was  enduring  alone  the  pain,  the  anguish  of 
an  irreparable  loss.  Through  all  these  years  the  subtle 
hope  had  persisted,  in  spite  of  every  circumstance,  that 
somehow  life  might  bring  him  back  to  her.  He  had 
come,  it  is  true — he  really  had  in  death — but  he  had  gone 
again.  Where?  Whither  her  mother,  whither  Ger- 
hardt,  whither  Vesta  had  gone  ?  She  could  not  hope  to 
see  him  again,  for  the  papers  had  informed  her  of  his 
removal  to  Mrs.  Midgely's  residence,  and  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  to  be  taken  from  Chicago  to  Cincinnati  for  burial. 
The  last  ceremonies  in  Chicago  were  to  be  held  in  one  of 
the  wealthy  Roman  Catholic  churches  of  the  South  Side, 
St.  Michael's,  of  which  the  Midgelys  were  members. 

Jennie  felt  deeply  about  this.  She  would  have  liked 
so  much  to  have  had  him  buried  in  Chicago,  where  she 
could  go  to  the  grave  occasionally,  but  this  was  not  to  be. 
She  was  never  a  master  of  her  fate.  Others  invariably 
controlled.  She  thought  of  him  as  being  taken  from  her 
finally  by  the  removal  of  the  body  to  Cincinnati,  as 
though  distance  made  any  difference.  She  decided  at 
last  to  veil  herself  heavily  and  attend  the  funeral  at  the 
church.  The  paper  had  explained  that  the  services 
would  be  at  two  in  the  afternoon.  Then  at  four  the 
body  would  be  taken  to  the  depot,  and  transferred  te  the 

426 


JENNIE    GEPHARDT 

train;  the  members  of  the  family  would  accompany  it  to 
Cincinnati.  She  thought  of  this  as  another  opportunity. 
She  might  go  to  the  depot. 

A  little  before  the  time  for  the  funeral  cortege  to 
arrive  at  the  church  there  appeared  at  one  of  its  sub- 
sidiary entrances  a  woman  in  black,  heavily  veiled,  who 
took  a  seat  in  an  inconspicuous  corner.  She  was  a  little 
nervous  at  first,  for,  seeing  that  the  church  was  dark  and 
empty,  she  feared  lest  she  had  mistaken  the  time  and 
place ;  but  after  ten  minutes  of  painful  suspense  a  bell  in 
the  church  tower  began  to  toll  solemnly.  Shortly  there- 
after an  acolyte  in  black  gown  and  white  surplice  ap- 
peared and  lighted  groups  of  candles  on  either  side  of  the 
altar.  A  hushed  stirring  of  feet  in  the  choir-loft  indicated 
that  the  service  was  to  be  accompanied  by  music.  Some 
loiterers,  attracted  by  the  bell,  some  idle  strangers,  a  few 
acquaintances  and  citizens  not  directly  invited  appeared 
and  took  seats. 

Jennie  watched  all  this  with  wondering  eyes.  Never 
in  her  life  had  she  been  inside  a  Catholic  church.  The 
gloom,  the  beauty  of  the  windows,  the  whiteness  of  the 
altar,  the  golden  flames  of  the  candles  impressed  her. 
She  was  suffused  with  a  sense  of  sorrow,  loss,  beauty,  and 
mystery.  Life  in  all  its  vagueness  and  uncertainty 
seemed  typified  by  this  scene. 

As  the  bell  tolled  there  came  from  the  sacristy  a  pro- 
cession of  altar-boys.  The  smallest,  an  angelic  youth  of 
eleven,  came  first,  bearing  aloft  a  magnificent  silver  cross. 
In  the  hands  of  each  subsequent  pair  of  servitors  was 
held  a  tall,  lighted  candle.  The  priest,  in  black  cloth 
and  lace,  attended  by  an  acolyte  on  either  hand,  followed. 
The  procession  passed  out  the  entrance  into  the  vestibule 
of  the  church,  and  was  not  seen  again  until  the  choir 
began  a  mournful,  responsive  chant,  the  Latin  suppli- 
cation for  mercy  and  peace. 

Then,  at  this  sound  the  solemn  procession  made  its 
reappearance.  There  came  the  silver  cross,  the  candles, 

427 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

the  dark-faced  priest,  reading  dramatically  to  himself  as 
he  walked,  and  the  body  of  Lester  in  a  great  black  coffin, 
with  silver  handles,  carried  by  the  pall-bearers,  who  kept 
an  even  pace.  Jennie  stiffened  perceptibly,  her  nerves 
responding  as  though  to  a  shock  from  an  electric  current. 
She  did  not  know  any  of  these  men.  She  did  not  know 
Robert.  She  had  never  seen  Mr.  Midgely.  Of  the  long 
company  of  notables  who  followed  two  by  two  she 
recognized  only  three,  whom  Lester  had  pointed  out  to 
her  in  times  past.  Mrs.  Kane  she  saw,  of  course,  for  she 
was  directly  behind  the  coffin,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a 
stranger;  behind  her  walked  Mr.  Watson,  solemn,  gra- 
cious. He  gave  a  quick  glance  to  either  side,  evidently 
expecting  to  see  her  somewhere;  but  not  finding  her,  he 
turned  his  eyes  gravely  forward  and  walked  on.  Jennie 
looked  with  all  her  eyes,  her  heart  gripped  by  pain. 
She  seemed  so  much  a  part  of  this  solemn  ritual,  and 
yet  infinitely  removed  from  it  all. 

The  procession  reached  the  altar  rail,  and  the  coffin 
was  put  down.  A  white  shroud  bearing  the  insignia  of 
suffering,  a  black  cross,  was  put  over  it,  and  the  great 
candles  were  set  beside  it.  There  were  the  chanted  invo- 
cations and  responses,  the  sprinkling  of  the  coffin  with 
holy  water,  the  lighting  and  swinging  of  the  censer  and 
then  the  mumbled  responses  of  the  auditors  to  the  Lord's 
Prayer  and  to  its  Catholic  addition,  the  invocation  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Jennie  was  overawed  and  amazed,  buft 
no  show  of  form  colorful,  impression  imperial,  could 
take  away  the  sting  of  death,  the  sense  of  infinite  loss. 
To  Jennie  the  candles,  the  incense,  the  holy  song  were 
beautiful.  They  touched  the  deep  chord  of  melancholy 
in  her,  and  made  it  vibrate  through  the  depths  of  her 
being.  She  was  as  a  house  filled  with  mournful  melody 
and  the  presence  of  death.  She  cried  and  cried.  She 
could  see,  ^curiously,  that  Mrs.  Kane  was  sobbing  con- 
vulsively also. 

When  it  was  all  over  the  carriages  were  entered  and  the 

428 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

body  was  borne  to  the  station.  All  the  guests  and 
strangers  departed,  and  finally,  when  all  was  silent,  she 
arose.  Now  she  would  go  to  the  depot  also,  for  she  was 
hopeful  of  seeing  his  body  put  on  the  train.  They  would 
have  to  bring  it  out  on  the  platform,  just  as  they  did  in 
Vesta's  case.  She  took  a  car,  and  a  little  later  she  entered 
the  waiting-room  of  the  depot.  She  lingered  about,  first 
in  the  concourse,  where  the  great  iron  fence  separated 
the  passengers  from  the  tracks,  and  then  in  the  waiting- 
room,  hoping  to  discover  the  order  of  proceedings.  She 
finally  observed  the  group  of  immediate  relatives  wait- 
ing— Mrs.  Kane,  Robert,  Mrs.  Midgely,  Louise,  Amy, 
Imogene,  and  the  others.  She  actually  succeeded  in 
identifying  most  of  them,  though  it  was  not  knowledge 
in  this  case,  but  pure  instinct  and  intuition. 

No  one  had  noticed  it  in  the  stress  of  excitement,  but 
it  was  Thanksgiving  Eve.  Throughout  the  great  rail- 
road station  there  was  a  hum  of  anticipation,  that  curious 
ebullition  of  fancy  which  springs  from  the  thought  of 
pleasures  to  come.  People  were  going  away  for  the 
holiday.  Carriages  were  at  the  station  entries.  An- 
nouncers were  calling  in  stentorian  voices  the  destination 
of  each  new  train  as  the  time  of  its  departure  drew  near. 
Jennie  heard  with  a  desperate  ache  the  description  of  a 
route  which  she  and  Lester  had  taken  more  than  once, 
slowly  and  melodiously  emphasized.  "Detroit,  Toledo, 
Cleveland,  Buffalo,  and  New  York."  There  were  cries  of 
trains  for  "Fort  Wayne,  Columbus,  Pittsburg,  Phila- 
delphia, and  points  East,"  and  then  finally  for  "Indian- 
apolis, Louisville,  Columbus,  Cincinnati,  and  points 
South."  The  hour  had  struck. 

Several  times  Jennie  had  gone  to  the  concourse  be- 
tween the  waiting-room  and  the  tracks  to  see  if  through 
the  iron  grating  which  separated  her  from  her  beloved 
she  could  get  one  last  look  at  the  coffin,  or  the  great  wood- 
en box  which  held  it,  before  it  was  put  on  the  train. 
Now  she  saw  it  coming.  There  was  a  baggage  porter 

429 


JENNIE   GERHARD! 

pushing  a  truck  into  position  near  the  place  where  the 
baggage  car  would  stop.  On  it  was  Lester,  that  last 
shadow  of  his  substance,  incased  in  the  honors  of  wood, 
and  cloth,  and  silver.  There  was  no  thought  on  the  part 
of  the  porter  of  the  agony  of  loss  which  was  represented 
here.  He  could  not  see  how  wealth  and  position  in  this 
hour  were  typified  to  her  mind  as  a  great  fence,  a  wall, 
which  divided  her  eternally  from  her  beloved.  Had  it 
not  always  been  so  ?  Was  not  her  life  a  patchwork  of 
conditions  made  and  affected  by  these  things  which  she 
saw — wealth  and  force — which  had  found  her  unfit? 
She  had  evidently  been  born  to  yield,  not  seek.  This 
panoply  of  power  had  been  paraded  before  her  since 
childhood.  What  could  she  do  now  but  stare  vaguely 
after  it  as  it  marched  triumphantly  by  ?  Lester  had  been 
of  it.  Him  it  respected.  Of  her  it  knew  nothing.  She 
looked  through  the  grating,  and  once  more  there  came 
the  cry  of  "  Indianapolis,  Louisville,  Columbus,  Cincin- 
nati, and  points  South."  A  long  red  train,  brilliantly 
lighted,  composed  of  baggage  cars,  day  coaches,  a  dining- 
car,  set  with  white  linen  and  silver,  and  a  half  dozen 
comfortable  Pullmans,  rolled  in  and  stopped.  A  great 
black  engine,  puffing  and  glowing,  had  it  all  safely  in  tow. 

As  the  baggage  car  drew  near  the  waiting  truck  a 
train-hand  in  blue,  looking  out  of  the  car,  called  to  some 
one  within. 

"Hey,  Jack!  Give  us  a  hand  here.  There's  a  stiff 
outside!" 

Jennie  could  not  hear. 

All  she  could  see  was  the  great  box  that  was  so  soon  to 
disappear.  All  she  could  feel  was  that  this  train  would 
start  presently,  and  then  it  would  all  be  over.  The 
gates  opened,  the  passengers  poured  out.  There  were 
Robert,  and  Amy,  and  Louise,  and  Midgely — all  making 
for  the  Pullman  cars  in  the  rear.  They  had  said  their 
farewells  to  their  friends.  No  need  to  repeat  them.  A 
trio  of  assistants  "gave  a  hand"  at  getting  the  great 

430 


JENNIE   GERHARDT 

wooden  case  into  the  car.  Jennie  saw  it  disappear  with 
an  acute  physical  wrench  at  her  heart. 

There  were  many  trunks  to  be  put  aboard,  and  then 
the  door  of  the  baggage  car  half  closed,  but  not  before  the 
warning  bell  of  the  engine  sounded.  There  was  the  in- 
sistent calling  of  "all  aboard  "  from  this  quarter  and  that ; 
then  slowly  the  great  locomotive  began  to  move.  Its 
bell  was  ringing,  its  steam  hissing,  its  smoke-stack  throw- 
ing aloft  a  great  black  plume  of  smoke  that  fell  back  over 
the  cars  like  a  pall.  The  fireman,  conscious  of  the  heavy 
load  behind,  flung  open  a  flaming  furnace  door  to  throw 
in  coal.  Its  light  glowed  like  a  golden  eye. 

Jennie  stood  rigid,  staring  into  the  wonder  of  this 
picture,  her  face  white,  her  eyes  wide,  her  hands  uncon- 
sciously clasped,  but  one  thought  in  her  mind — they 
were  taking  his  body  away.  A  leaden  November  sky 
was  ahead,  almost  dark.  She  looked,  and  looked  until 
the  last  glimmer  of  the  red  lamp  on  the  receding  sleeper 
disappeared  in  the  maze  of  smoke  and  haze  overhanging 
the  tracks  of  the  far-stretching  yard. 

"Yes,"  said  the  voice  of  a  passing  stranger,  gay  with 
the  anticipation  of  coming  pleasures.  "We're  going  to 
have  a  great  time  down  there.  Remember  Annie? 
Uncle  Jim  is  coming  and  Aunt  Ella." 

Jennie  did  not  hear  that  or  anything  else  of  the  chatter 
and  bustle  around  her.  Before  her  was  stretching  a 
vista  of  lonely  years  down  which  she  was  steadily  gazing. 
Now  what  ?  She  was  not  so  old  yet.  There  were  those 
two  orphan  children  to  raise.  They  would  marry  and 
leave  after  a  while,  and  then  what?  Days  and  days  in 
endless  reiteration,  and  then — ? 


